


A Laugh Upon Her Lips

by WhatEvenAmI



Series: Beware the Killer Rabbits [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And the best sister ever, Anxiety, Avengers Family, Avengers Tower, Bed-Wetting, Bedtime Stories, Blow Jobs, Body Dysphoria, Bucky Bear - Freeform, Coming In Pants, Crossdressing, Crying, Cute, Diapers, F/M, Flashbacks, Forced Feminization, HYDRA Trash Party, High Heels, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), I'm Going to Hell, Kissing, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, Magical Accidents, Makeup, Manipulation, Mental Instability, Mood Swings, Museums, Nail Polish, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Nightmares, Non-Sexual Age Play, Panic Attacks, Panties, Paranoia, Past Rape/Non-con, Pet Names, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Poor Bucky, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Shame, Shaving, Storytelling, Stuffed Toys, Therapy, Tumblr Prompt, Wetting, alexander pierce should have died slower, really really should have died slower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatEvenAmI/pseuds/WhatEvenAmI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>She wasn't a very pretty girl to begin with.</em>
</p><p>Sometimes Pierce made his Winter Soldier act as a child. But that's not all he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Face the Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lauralot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Little Interludes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3705493) by [Lauralot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot). 



> Based off of [this idea](http://lauralot89.tumblr.com/post/125295218531/hey-anyways-apshds-au-where-not-only-is-bucky-the) from ravenously, and also [this](http://lauralot89.tumblr.com/post/125297429816/perplexedhedgehog-replied-to-your-post-hey) and [this](http://lauralot89.tumblr.com/post/125298605901/oh-god-bucky-already-has-arm-related-dysphoria). 
> 
> (Oh yeah, I have [a tumblr](http://perplexedhedgehog.tumblr.com/).)

The banging on the door was inevitable. She's not supposed to miss meals; she already lost too much weight back in DC. But she couldn't face the others this morning. She couldn't.

"You okay, Bee?" Tasha calls.

Her eyes are swollen and her tummy is sore and her face is all scratched from her fingernails. That'll heal up soon enough, though. She sniffles and ducks away from the mirror and tries to sound like she hasn't been sobbing uncontrollably for the past hour. "Uh-huh."

"Can I come in?"

Bee hesitates. She knows Tasha, at least, won't get mad at her for crying. Last time she cried, Tasha just handed her Bucky Bear. _Here, you look like you need a friend._

She wishes she had Bucky Bear now. But she left him on the pillow when she went to shower after changing the sheets—

The  _sheets._ Her heart feels like it's slamming against her ribs and her tummy seizes up, hard. If there was anything in it she'd probably throw up. She left her wet bedding crumpled on the floor by the nightstand, meaning to take it to the laundry after her shower. But then she never came back out of the bathroom and now Tasha might  _see._  She hurries to unlock the door.

Her wet pajamas lie in plain sight; whimpering, she kicks them behind the trash can, trying to cover herself with the towel. Then Tasha's standing in the doorway and Bee has to look down at the floor. 

"You hurt your face," Tasha says, so softly that she almost starts sobbing all over again. Tasha's voice is almost never soft, but when it is it makes Bee want to hug onto her and cry. "What happened?"

"It's _this_ ," she whispers, tugging at the dark bristly scruff growing over her chin. 

She hadn't really thought about it at first.

When she was with HYDRA a beard only got in the way, so when it started growing in they just lasered it off. Sometimes, before they played their games, her last daddy would shave it for her. He didn't like it when she had a beard; she wasn't a very pretty girl to begin with.

And she _knew_ that, and she _hated_ knowing it. She still feels so wrong with every step, with the slightest movement. Even when she's sitting still it doesn't really go away. She's too big and too bulky and she has the metal arm, the rough angry scars where it meets her chest. She also has a penis, but her last daddy mostly didn't mind that as long as she knew what to do with it. She got pretty good at knowing what to do with it.

But it's been so long since she even had to think about the hair that grows on her face.

It was already a pretty bad morning. She had the dream about the chair again, where her last daddy's there telling her she's been so bad he'll never let her up. And the pain felt so _real_ ; she woke up still hurting. She also woke up feeling sick and shaky and cold and soaked and she could still hear her last daddy telling her just how _bad_ she'd been. 

(It might not be so scary if she knew how to make her new daddy stop being upset. He still isn't talking to her and she can't fix it. She can still see the repulsion on his face before he walked away and never came back. Even when he was most disgusted, her last daddy never looked at her like _that._

He always kept promising there would be no more chair, no punishments and no pain. But she'd take a million of all of that if it meant he'd come back and smile at her again.)

The shower had helped, washing away the feeling of anything but soft, enveloping warmth. She almost couldn't hear the hum of the chair over the spray. She still felt shaky when she finally turned off the water, but better. A _lot_ better.

And then she went to brush her teeth and caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror. And  _it_ was there, and she'd been filled with sick, helpless disgust. She wanted to break through the mirror and punch out the horrible broken girl staring back at her. But she'd be in so much trouble if she smashed her mirror, so she curled up in a ball and grabbed onto herself and burst into tears. She couldn't help it; it's just been too much.

She stayed like that, knowing someone would come looking for her. She's lucky it was Tasha; Tasha just _gets_  things better than most people do. She couldn't talk to anyone else about this. Tasha's the one who first understood about how sometimes she's little and a girl. She never looked confused or disgusted or mad. She just said that Bee can be her brother or her sister, either is perfectly okay. Which was a really big relief, because sometimes it's hard to know which one she _is_.

("Just don't think I'll go easy on you when we're sparring," she'd said, "Either way, I'll beat you up.")

"Huh," she says now, frowning a little, "You're probably not allowed to have razors. Maybe we could get you an electric one."

"Just want it gone," Bee whispers, tears stinging her eyes again. She knows she sounds ungrateful, but she can't help it. She doesn't feel like she can go even one more day with this stupid ugly beard on her face. "I want it  _gone._ "

She's being rude, but Tasha doesn't get mad. "For today I can help, if you want. But first you should take deep breaths. You've had a really rough time, I know. It's gonna be okay."

She tries to obey, even though it's hard both to breathe and to believe that anything can ever be okay. "I'll go wait in the hall while you get some clothes on. If you need, I'll be right there." Tasha smiles.

As soon as she's gone, Bee frantically grabs her soiled pajamas and bedding, burying them in the hamper. That was really close. Her heart is still pounding.

Tony's started designing clothing special for her; she wears different stuff when she's a grown-up, so she needed girl clothes. Today she finds a pair of stretchy black pants and a fuzzy purple sweater that's huge even on her, and she's a pretty big girl. It comes almost to her knees. It's like wearing a big soft blanket, all snuggly and warm. It makes Bee feel a little better.

There's also a pair of slippers that look like ducks and they _quack_ when she squeezes their heads. She can't help giggling a little as she slides them on. In fact, getting dressed takes an extra few minutes because she gets kind of distracted making her slippers quack at each other.

 _I love you so much,_ says the right ducky to the left one. She thinks it's the right, anyway. Sometimes she gets them a little confused and then someone has to help her put her shoes on.  _I love you and you're my best friend in the whole wide world._

It's hard for them to hug because they have stubby little duck wings, but they manage, and that's when Bee notices Tony put  _left_ and  _right_ on the back of each duck. Now all she has to do is remember which foot is which. 

Oh yeah. Metal arm on the left.

Once she's done getting dressed, she grabs onto Bucky Bear and squeezes him tight to her chest. After a few trial hugs he agrees that the purple sweater is the coziest thing ever. And out in the hallway Tasha smiles really big, bouncing on her toes. "Bee! You look so cute!"

Bee can't help but smile, too, looking down at her slippers with her hair hiding her face. It's been a while since she felt _cute_. The last time...the last time...

_"Come here" Daddy's smiling. She's fresh out of the bath wrapped in a fluffy towel. They didn't play their usual games in the tub, so there's a feeling in her tummy telling her something's coming. She just wishes she knew when._

_"Daddy has a present for you, Princess." She hopes it isn't food. Her insides weren't feeling good already. Daddy's holding a box, though, so probably not food._

_It's a dress. She stares, mouth open. It's pink, with a ripply skirt that looks perfect for twirling, and the upper half is all flowery. "Oooh!" She doesn't have to fake her enthusiasm, running her fingers over the embroidery. "Thank you, Daddy!"_

_"Well, let's see how it looks on you, Angel. Arms up, now." Obediently, she raises her hands in the air, and the towel falls to the floor. She winces; she doesn't like being naked. It's cold, and her big unwieldy body is out in the open, all two hundred and ninety pounds of it. But she makes herself stay still and soon enough Daddy is sliding the dress over her head, smoothing it down on her body. "There you go, sweetheart."_

_She wants to jump around and spin and watch the skirt flare up, but she has to stay still because Daddy's brushing out her hair now. "What do you say we do pigtails today?"_

_"Okay." He said it like a question, but she knows there aren't options; if Daddy wants her in pigtails then she will have them._

_Once her hair has been dried and tied up, though, she has to admit he did a nice job. She grins, shaking her head to feel the pigtails flip back and forth._

_Then Daddy finally lets her go and she twirls and bounces all the way back to the bedroom. The skirt is perfect for spinning, just like she thought, fanning out all around her. She picks up Bunny and spins her too. "Whee!"_

_"Silly girl," Daddy smiles at her and her whole body feels warm, "You're the cutest little thing."_

_She's not. She_ knows _she's not. But just for now she can feel like she is, light and soft and delicate. For now her patchwork body doesn't matter, not even the arm, cold and rigid and everything little girls are not. For now she can forget the heft and the scarring and the hard unyielding chill. For now, just for now, she's little and cute, Princess and Angel. An angel princess; leaping and flying, she smiles._

 _Then Daddy's hands are stilling her, sliding up under her dress, and she freezes, clinging Bunny to her chest. She's not allowed to stop him, not allowed to keep dancing forever and ever, but there's his soft voice against her ear, "You're so gorgeous, you know. You are just perfect."_ Perfect;  _her breath catches and his hands begin to work. "My perfect, pretty little snowflake."_

_Snowflake, beautiful and delicate and breathing silently, all she has to do is stay still stay still stay still—_

"Bee," Tasha's murmuring, rubbing her back, "Are you still with me?"

"Uh-huh," Bee mumbles, hugging tight to Bucky Bear. She hadn't realized she'd tensed up, but now she's achy and stiff. Tasha takes her hand and squeezes, leading her to the elevator.

In Tasha's bathroom, Bee sits on the edge of the tub, face lathered in foam, holding a basin on her lap. Tasha's perched beside her, soaking a razor in the water. "These aren't meant for, uh...these are meant for legs, really. So I guess you're gonna have a 'luscious' and 'silky' face." Bee blinks. "Okay, never mind. Now, hold really still. I'll try not to cut you."

Tasha's hands are steady and capable. She hardly feels the scrape of the blade, but even if she got all cut up she wouldn't care. She just wants the hair  _gone._

Tasha's razor has a kind of gel on it. It leaves her face feeling weirdly slimy and it takes effort not to grimace. She focuses on watches Tasha work. It's nice to have someone so absorbed in taking care of her, but not to do anything that hurts like the times her last daddy put makeup on her—

_"You're really too little for this, but I think we can make an exception, right, pretty girl? Hold still for me."_

Tasha must see something in her eyes, because she pauses to rub Bee's arm before continuing with the razor. Tasha's gentler than her last daddy was. She washes Bee's face clean with a cloth and brushes out her hair for a long, long time, way after all the tangles are gone. 

Her face really is smooth, and her hair's soft as silk, and Tasha keeps on brushing and brushing and murmuring softly in her ear about everything they're going to do today. It's peaceful and nice, Bee snuggling into her sweater and hugging Bucky Bear, Tasha occasionally nudging the duck slippers with her feet to make them quack. The girls look at each other and giggle; Tasha does it again.

"How do I look now?" Bee mumbles, staring into her lap.

"Adorable!" Tasha says at once, poking her in the tummy.

She can't help her spreading smile, cheeks growing warm, and for the first time in forever Bee really does feel pretty.

She also feels safe and calm and content, feels like maybe Tasha's right and things will someday be okay.


	2. Non-con-ventional Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You like to look pretty, don't you, lovely girl?"_

She hurts so bad. But at least she didn’t have to sit in front of Daddy with her mangled body and tell him “Mission failed.” She really messed up, but she carried it out anyway.

She got shot a _lot_ , in her tummy and her legs and in her shoulder too. Medical fixed her up, but she doesn't think she's ever seen them look that worried and it didn't make her feel very good.

(She wasn't  _scared._ The Soldier isn't scared of anything. But it just...it didn't feel good at all.)

The asset can handle a whole lot of pain, but he could barely hold himself still for the doctors who took care of him. He heard one doctor say that for anyone else those shots would have been a death sentence. He pulled through, though, and they got the bullets out and cleaned up his insides and delivered him to the Secretary in a rolling chair. A pathetic wreck, he hadn't been able to sit up straight as he recited how he'd botched his assignment. 

As soon as they were alone in the car Daddy rubbed his back and murmured “My poor Snowflake.” Layers of well-constructed defense melted away in an instant, and she had to hold in a gasp as pain and relief flooded through her.

She didn’t feel good at first because she was still a nasty mess of bruises and stitching and Daddy might not want to see that, and also she’d messed up this mission and she didn't deserve to be there with his hand rubbing her back. She leaned into it all the same because the memories of the surgery were still in her head and the asset is really a whole lot better at not being scared by that stuff than she is. And she still hurts so bad, deep down inside where she can’t make it better.

She’s trying really hard not to whimper and make a fuss, so all she can do is whisper “Daddy”, but he understands. He touches her hair and murmurs that she’s been so brave, she’s _such_ a brave girl.

He helps her get into the house and sits her down on the couch in the living room, switching on the TV. When he goes off down the hall she wants to say _don’t leave me_ but he’s back in seconds with a fuzzy blue nightgown and a stuffed bunny.

She must have played with the bunny before because already she knows she wants to hold it and hug it tight to her. Daddy presses it into her hand and helps her get out of the paper gown they gave her in surgery. She bites on her lip because it hurts so bad to move.

His eyebrows draw together when he sees her body. “My poor girl. Oh, sweetheart.” She has to be careful not to flinch when he reaches out a hand, but he doesn’t quite touch the stitches. “This looks terrible. I’m afraid we won’t be able to play any of our games, not until this is all better.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” She flushes, looking down at her lap. Daddy’s being so good to her and now she can’t do _anything_. She’s just a big gross mess on Daddy’s couch and he won’t stop looking so _sad_. _More_ than sad, like what happened to her body hurts him too.

And that was all her own stupid fault.

“That’s all right. You’ve already been so brave for me. You’ve done so well, sweetheart, so well. Daddy is very, very proud of you. You were hurt so bad, but you stuck it out and finished your job. And because of that—” he smiles and strokes her cheek, and despite all the pain she feels like she could be glowing. “—because of that, darling, you stopped a terrible thing from happening. You’ve been so good for me. And now I’m going to take care of you until you’re feeling all better.”

“I love you, Daddy,” she whispers, wanting to reach out and hug him. She can’t, because if she moves too fast she’ll mess up the stitches, but he must understand. He squeezes her arm, which'll have to do until she's healed enough to hug for real.

“I love you too, Snowflake. I love you so much.”

He helps her get into the nightgown and wraps a blanket tight around her and and the bunny. She’s soft and warm and safe and already she can feel herself healing. It hurts less and less to move; at this rate the stitches will be out in a couple days. Which is good, because the way she is now she’ll be useless if anything else bad happens.

She’s just got to hope that no one needs her in the next couple days. And then there’ll probably be lots of training, to test the asset’s body and make sure it’s all healed up. So she could really be out of commission for a week or more.

“Oh, I do know a little game we could play just sitting right here on the couch. Hold on a minute, sweetheart, and don’t go anywhere.” Daddy smiles.

As soon as he’s gone the pain and fear start coming back full force. She can feel a whine rising up and holds it back, squeezing the bunny tighter. Daddy called her _brave_. She can get through this; she's sure she's had worse, but she can't really remember.

Daddy's back before too long, holding a box. She doesn’t mean to grab onto his hand when he sits down next to her; it just kind of happens. He squeezes back, kissing her on the cheek. “Look what I’ve got in the box.”

It’s colors. Tubes of colors, bottles of colors, flat pads of powdery colors.

“What is it?” she asks, not letting any hesitation creep into her voice. It would be bad to sound like she doesn’t want to play whatever game he’s thought up, but sometimes Daddy’s presents mean she has to do a lot of pretending. That makes her nervous; she’s not sure she’s up to pretending right now.

“It’s called makeup. Lots of people use it to make themselves look pretty. You like to look pretty, don’t you, lovely girl?”

“Uh-huh.” Well, that’s true. She does. And sometimes feeling pretty is really hard. She quickly pushes those thoughts away; they threaten to ruin everything. She doesn't remember exactly what happened last time to make her feel horrible and nasty and utterly worthless, but the feeling creeps somewhere in her head, too close for comfort.

“You’re really too little for this, but I think we can make an exception, right, pretty girl?” She nods earnestly. “Hold still for me.”

He does up her hair first, just to get it out of the way. He brushes it slowly, working out the tangles, fingers tracing against her scalp until she feels like she’s completely melting in his hands.

Then comes a brush spreading powder over her face. It tickles and makes her giggle a little.

She tries harder to keep still when Daddy starts working around her eyes. She holds his gaze for a long time, watching him become absorbed in painting her up, softly and tenderly.

She thinks she could play more of this game sometime. Although it is a little scary letting things get so near her eyes, and she can suddenly remember missions where the asset got information out of people by—

She’s blinking very hard, and the sticky stuff from her eyelashes gets on her face. “Careful,” Daddy says, but he doesn’t sound mad. He gently brushes at her eyelids with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, focusing on his eyes again and pushing the grown-up stuff out of her head.

“You have such a lovely face, darling.” She can’t smile because he’s moved to her mouth, rubbing at it with a tube of waxy stuff. “And such beautiful lips.”

He stops to rub at the corner of her mouth, wiping his hand on a tissue. “I think we’re all done.”

She blinks, and her eyelashes feel like they might get tangled. She does it a couple more times to get used to the feeling. She's becoming aware of the hurt again, but just for a while Daddy took a lot of the pain away. And she’s feeling a lot better, really she is. “Thank you.”

“So you like this little game, Princess?” Daddy gives her a small smile, eyes sparkling, taking her in. She feels so _perfect_  when he looks at her like that. “Shall we try it again? Another time, when you’re feeling better?”

“Yeah,” The only possible answer, but this time she doesn’t have to pretend anything. “Yes, please, Daddy.”

He meets her eyes and smiles bigger, cupping the back of her head in one hand and leaning in to kiss her. She opens her mouth to kiss back. She's worn-out and sleepy now and it's soft and nice, slow kisses and gentle nibbling and Daddy's fingers toying lazily with her hair. He never pushes harder or moves anywhere else—she's still too hurt to really play—and it's kind of relaxing, no expectation of anything more. She can feel her eyes getting heavy and Daddy doesn't do anything to keep her from drifting off to sleep.

When her head slides away Daddy’s smiling down at her with berry-smudged lips. She thinks she smiles back before leaning down to his shoulder and closing her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently my brain decided there should be more girl!Snowflake and...yep.
> 
> Chapters are not in chronological order.
> 
> So when I first saw the makeup slogan "Non-conventional beauty" I had to comment, "Shouldn't that be 'unconventional'?" 
> 
> Not when Pierce does your makeup.
> 
> (I'm very sick and sleep-deprived right now. Don't judge me.)


	3. Once There Was a Little Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She helped fix all the problems with her Daddy and everyone was safe. Safe like she is here, tucked up against Daddy with his words soft in her ears._
> 
> Daddy teaches his little girl all kinds of important new things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though these chapters aren't in chronological order, this chapter is a direct follow-up to the last one.
> 
> I think every author has had one or two of those fics where you stop halfway through, wonder what the hell you're doing, and then keep on typing anyway.
> 
> This is one of those. I hope everyone enjoys.

This mission is almost disappointingly easy. The Soldier isn't even needed; the target has been secured before he's left the van. He doesn't even know why they bothered to bring him out of the ice.

"Keep an eye on him, Soldier," one agent instructs as they pull out of the driveway, but the captive makes no effort to move. The Soldier is adept at detecting fear, and the target is not skilled at hiding it. The Soldier can read it in the pupils of his eyes, his frozen face, his trembling body.

As he recovers from the initial fear, the captive makes tentative glances toward the Soldier. Unacceptable. The Soldier is not to be seen by those who are meant to live. "Keep your eyes on the floor," he orders the captive, gesturing with his gun. Hastily, the man drops his head.

"Let him look if he wants," Commander Mercer calls back from the front seat. "You know who that is, don't you, Mr. Wynne? I bet you've heard the legend. It's true. How about that?"

Despite being told that he may look at the Soldier, the target keeps his head down. The van begins to come to a halt, and the Soldier is confused. This is not the HYDRA base from which they departed. "Soldier," Mercer says, still looking straight ahead, "The mission itinerary is still as it was, but you have an additional task." So the target is still to remain alive, and will be brought back to the base. The Soldier nods to himself and awaits orders.

"Mr. Wynne, I think you know what we want you to do. Unfortunately, you've attempted to sabotage HYDRA's efforts before, haven't you?" For the first time, she glances into the backseat. "You look frightened, Mr. Wynne. Don't be frightened. Our Winter Soldier is going to hold your hand through the whole process. He's going to hold your hand  _very tight._ Isn't that right, Soldier?"

The Soldier doesn't have to be told which arm to extend.

"The Soldier's going to help you complete this task  _exactly right_ , Mr. Wynne!" Mercer sounds very cheerful now, "So we can be sure there won't be any mistakes!"

The Soldier understands the information he has been given now. This man is skilled in technology and programming. He's one of very few people who can do what he does. HYDRA needs something from him, and the Soldier is there to ensure that he carries it out correctly. 

The house appears ordinary, similar in style to every other house on the street. However, once inside, they are led immediately to a flight of stairs leading down. And down, and farther down. This must be a safe house, concealing a bunker below. 

Finally, they reach bare, brightly lit cement room. In the middle of the room is a large table covered in machinery parts. Computer monitors and hard drives are scattered on the floor.

His master is there. Fractionally, the Soldier tightens his hold. It would not do to botch an assignment with his master watching.

"Secretary," Mercer says quietly into the darkness, "We've brought Mr. Wynne. I've heard this guy is so good, he could do the job with one hand."

"One hand?" his master repeats, smiling a very familiar kind of smile that makes something ache deep inside the Soldier. He pushes it down and focuses on his metal arm, his cold rigid fingers entwined with those of the trembling man. "I'd say there are definite benefits to having two. Our Soldier could tell you, if we asked him. But I have a feeling Mr. Wynne may have a hard time seeing the benefits of, say, having two working hands. Sometimes it's the things in life you take for granted that are most important. Such as the safety and security of your family, just as an example. Your friends, and their children. Wouldn't you say those things are pretty important, Mr. Wynne?"

The target nods his head. A familiar tang catches the air, followed by a splattering noise. The Soldier looks down to see a puddle spreading at both their feet. He thinks other targets have had this same response to fear, but his stomach seizes all the same because his master is here. For some reason he knows that this will make his master furious, disgusted—

But the Secretary's expression does not change. "Agent Pieraccini, I'm counting on you to show our guest proper hospitality. Mr. Wynne's come a long way. He'd probably appreciate food, perhaps some  _clothes..._ see to it that he has anything he wants, as soon as he's completed his work."

Pieraccini nods, smiles. She doesn't talk much, but she smiles a lot. The Soldier thinks he remembers her braiding his hair once, but a lot of the time he has memories that don't make sense. He pushes this one to the back of his mind. Thinking about the small things takes his focus away from the important work to be done. That's why unnecessary information is deleted.

 _"Now,"_ the Secretary taps on a hard drive, "We need to upgrade a certain computer program. It was designed in a hurry back when this kind of technological development was only just getting off the ground. But now it needs upgrades to continue operating as it did. It's very important that the program operates just as it did, Mr. Wynne."

The rest of the mission is simple. The Soldier sits at the target's side while he works, holding his hand still and trying to keep track if the time. It's difficult, as the room does not contain a clock, but the Soldier would estimate they've been there for approximately half a day when the captive sits back wearily, nodding toward his work. Agent Merle is watching them at the time, and he calls the Secretary into the room.

"Soldier, you can let go of him now," Mercer says. The Soldier turns to the Secretary for confirmation, and he nods, so the Soldier allows Pieraccini and Merle to tie the target's hands and lead him back upstairs.

"This week's schedule's packed. I'm going to need to return home," The Secretary tells Mercer, "So I won't be staying another night. I assume you can handle getting him accommodated back at the base. If anything is wrong with the program I'm to be informed immediately. You're officially off-duty with the soldier. He'll be returning with me."

As soon as they're alone in the car his master strokes his hair and whispers a command in his ear. The Soldier feels like everything in his head is melting away, leaving only a big quiet space behind. 

"Was I good, Daddy?" she whispers.

"Very good, Princess," he whispers back, reaching over to pet her hair. "And today we're going to do something I don't think we've ever done before. We need to fly back home, and Daddy's going to take you in one of his special planes. I don't think you've ever been in one."

She shrugs. She can't remember if she has or not. 

"I think it'll be a lot of fun. We'll get to see the world as we fly over it. Would you like that?"

"Uh-huh."

The car stops inside a big dark building and Daddy tells her not to talk till they're in the plane with the door shut because no one is to know she isn't the Soldier. "Daddy should have thought of that sooner, but you can pretend for a couple minutes, can't you?"

That sounds a lot easier before she actually gets out of the car.

The building is big and there are lots and lots of people inside, running around and yelling stuff. She suddenly feels very small and very nervous. "Look straight ahead," Daddy murmurs, "They've been told not to talk to you. Don't even look at them."

She tries really hard not to, but she can see  _them_ all looking at  _her._ There are flutters in her tummy and she wonders if her face is as burning red as it feels. She has to force herself not to run to the plane, staying right in step with Daddy. As soon as the door closes behind them she's hugging him tight, feeling her heart pound against his chest. He isn't mad, though, hugging back just as hard. "Good job, Princess. We're all right now."

While the plane begins to inch forward, Daddy helps her change clothes. That always makes her feel younger and less like the asset. First he helps her get her boots off, because the man from before soiled them. Then he quickly strips off her tac gear and helps her step into her girl panties. She could do her own clothes, but Daddy insists on helping her dress. Today she gets a dark blue skirt and a white lacy shirt. She swings her feet, relishing the feeling of freedom in her legs. 

Daddy brushes her hair while they go over the plane inspection, pulling it up into a red bow. "Well," he says, "Don't you look patriotic today."

She isn't exactly sure what that means, but from the look on Daddy's face she thinks that must be a good thing. Hesitantly, she smiles, and he kisses her on the cheek.

Then the plane is moving really fast and Daddy leads her to the window so she can watch the fields rushing by. All at once she feels the thrust under her feet, and then the ground is quickly falling away. "Whoa," she breathes, watching roads and trees get smaller and smaller. She's been in a Quinjet before, but they don't have big windows like this plane has, and most missions happen at night when it's dark. She doesn't think she's  _ever_ gotten to see—

She doesn't understand at first why she's stumbling back, reaching for Daddy, until he says "Snowflake?"

"We're really high up," she mumbles into her hands, tummy twisting. Daddy planned this just for her and now he's going to be mad that she's not—

His hand, soft and warm, slides into hers. "Oh," he says softly, and when she takes a quick peek at his face he doesn't lookmad at all. "You're right, we're pretty high up." He squeezes her hand really tight. "You're safe with Daddy. I won't let anything bad happen to you. Come over here, now. You don't have to look."

She thinks she'd be okay with looking now. The ground's too far away to really see anymore. It was just that one moment. But when he pulls her down into a seat and rocks her she still finds herself holding on really tight.

"I've got something I think will make you feel better," Daddy says. She hopes it isn't food. Her tummy feels a little wobbly from the plane and from getting scared.

But it's a game and he said it's helped her feel better before. She doesn't remember that. Daddy says sometimes little girls like to play dress-up and act like grown-up ladies. And grown-up ladies sometimes wear things like makeup to make them look pretty. She does like to feel pretty.

Daddy gets out a box full of colors. Tubes of colors, bottles of colors, flat pads of powdery colors.

"Hold still for me."

He looks at her, she thinks, the way an artist looks at a blank sketchbook, drawing on her face in precise, deliberate motions. He takes special care with her mouth, slowly working his way back and forth with a small tube of waxy stuff. He keeps pausing to touch her lips with his fingers.

He doesn't let her see how she looks just yet. This flight is going to take a good long time, he says, and they have a while to play. But she doesn't think she minds that. There's a certain feeling in her tummy that something bigger's coming. If Daddy wants to keep drawing on her and making art of her skin, she'd be content to keep on doing that.

He paints on her fingernails and toenails next, a shiny berry red. She has to hold still while it dries, but sometimes she waves her hand in front of her face just to see the color. She thinks this is new, finds it intriguing.

Daddy spends a long time looking her over, smiling. "Final touch," he murmurs, "You're  _really_ too young for these, but Daddy can help. It's fun to play dress-up, isn't it, pretty girl?"

She giggles. "Yes, Daddy."

"Maybe I could get you your very own jewelry to play with," he says, guiding her feet into a velvety pair of shoes with a tall heel.

"Thank you," she says as he helps her to stand. It's not as hard to walk as she thought. The Soldier's had lots of agility training. Still, she's wobbly, and the motion of the plane isn't helping, so Daddy puts an arm around her shoulders and she leans on him.

He takes her to the back of the plane to show her how she looks. She already knows to brace herself before catching sight of her reflection, but it still comes as a shock. She'd felt so little and young and there's her big body with the incongruous metal arm sticking out of a ruffled sleeve. 

But there's her hair, soft and shiny and secured up top with the floppy red bow. And her _face_ , with her berry-red lips to match her nails, the warm rosy glow in her cheeks, the soft color around wide eyes framed by long painted lashes.  _That_ looks pretty. Her lips turn up into a little smile.

Daddy spins her around so that they're looking at each other. His hand is on her arm, moving her down. She's unsteady in the heels, so he guides her to her knees. He's holding her hands, so she works his pants open with her mouth, only too late realizing she's leaving little red stains wherever her lips touch.

Red stains on Daddy, all up and down his length, tasting like sweat and wax. He starts out gentle but then he winds his fingers into her hair and pulls her in harder and harder, making her gag. Her eyes sting as she chokes again and again and again, pink-tinged spit sliding through her lips and down her chin. 

Tears slip down, too, tears from gagging, water running inky black. Her hair is yanked again and she's coming all apart, she must be a mess, but Daddy's got a hand under her chin to catch the spit before she can stain her shirt. He tilts her head up so they're looking at each other and thrusts against the roof of her mouth. She's pressed farther down, the heels digging into the backs of her thighs. She starts in with her tongue and hears Daddy begin to grunt and moan, which means she's doing good.

She licks him again and again, not taking her watering eyes off of his, and with the roughness of each thrust she can't keep herself from making a mess, her whole face a wet watercolor work, eyes blurred with dripping paint. Still, she keeps her head where his hand guides it, grabbing onto his thighs to brace herself as he rams all the way in once, twice—

She gags so hard her tummy hurts and that's when she starts to taste the tang that means she's done her job. She manages to swallow some of it, although when she choked a little came out her nose. She can smell it, running out like snot. Daddy's slowing down now, sliding nice and easy with his face all relaxed. Soon he's pulling her to her feet, wiping pink drool off her chin with his hand.

"You did beautifully, Angel," he's panting, looking at her with sparkling eyes, "but you certainly are a mess."

"Sorry," she whispers, stomach twisting in shame. He's still trying to clean off her face with his fingers.

"That just means we've got to get these clothes off you," he murmurs, "We wouldn't want to stain them."

Carefully, he slides off her shirt and helps her step out of the skirt, detangling her shoes from the fabric. She's standing in the middle of the plane in just the heels and her panties. Pink with polka dots; they're pretty and she doesn't want to ruin them, but already one of Daddy's hands is sliding down her back, cupping her bottom, and the other hand is rubbing over the front of her underpants.

Though she's still panting and shaking from the strain of the last game, she can already feel herself swelling down there. She avoids looking, keeping her eyes on Daddy instead, preferring not to see that part of her that's just not quite right on a little girl.

But she knows what to do with it.

She pushes herself against his fingers, swaying on the heels, and Daddy runs his hand up her back to steady her. To guide her up against him, to steer her head down into a kiss. She wraps her arms around him for balance, letting his tongue slide into her mouth. Then the hand runs back down, pulling her closer in until she's gasping against Daddy's lips. He's squeezing her bottom again, rubbing harder and harder against the crotch of her panties, and it doesn't take long before she cries out and spills over, hot stickiness seeping into the fabric. Daddy kisses her slower, more gently, and comes away with lips smudged berry red like hers.

First he helps her step out of the high-heeled shoes. Then he cleans her off with the panties, saying that since they're a mess she'll just have to go without. Gently, he pulls her clothes back on. It's a little weird wearing the skirt without panties, but kind of nice, too, and free. Daddy leads her back to the seats, where he washes her face clean and gently combs through her mussed hair with his fingers. With a little smile on his face, he sets the red bow right where it was before, and pats her on the head.

"Perfect," he murmurs, and her heart flutters. He leans in to kiss her forehead and whispers it against her face. "Perfect, Angel. Just perfect.  _But,_ " he adds as she's beginning to feel like she's melting, "I think you're getting tired."

Her eyes are already half-shut. She  _is_ tired. Daddy probably got to sleep when they were in the bunker, but she was working the whole time. "Is there a bed?"

"The seats go down, see? Let me get us some blankets."

As he tucks them both in together, she wonders aloud, "What was the thing that man was making in the bunker?" Then she stiffens. It's not her place to know that kind of information, and anyway, Daddy doesn't like it when his little girl acts too big. But it's so weird that she came along without really doing anything except hold a guy's hand. It just seems like they probably could have done it without her.

"Think you can stay awake for two bedtime stories, Princess?" Daddy asks.

"Uh-huh," she says around a yawn, and Daddy smiles.

"A long time ago, there was a man who was very special. He was the only one who could do his job. Kind of like you, sweetheart." Daddy squeezes her shoulder, "But he got pretty sick, and he was dying while people still needed him."

She realizes she's holding her breath, and lets it out.

"Back then, the world didn't have all the new developments it has today. Only ideas. But this man, he was a lot smarter than most people, and he took those ideas and worked with them. And because he was so important to so many people, he had a lot of help putting together a project that might save his life."

"What happened to him, Daddy?" she breathes.

"Well," Daddy says, "Like I told you, the technology back then wasn't as good as it is now. Oh, he didn't die," Daddy adds, catching the look on her face, "But it was clear that he wouldn't survive for long if he didn't get some of the newer technology. But, you know, integrating the new kind with the old kind can be tricky work, especially in complicated cases like this. So along came another special sort of man who could do that kind of work with one hundred percent accuracy. And in this case, that was the only acceptable level of accuracy."

She understands. The Soldier isn't allowed to make mistakes either, since his work is so important.

"But secretly, this man...his head was filled with bad ideas, Snowflake. He tried to program the technology to do the wrong things."

She grabs on tighter to Daddy. She doesn't even  _know_ what would happen to her if someone programmed her all wrong. That's really scary. Daddy pets her hair a little as he continues.

"Luckily, he got caught pretty early on, so he didn't do any real damage. But the thing is, the good people still needed him _._ He was the  _only_ one who could do that important job. And as you may have guessed, that man was this mission's target. And, my little Snowflake," Daddy brushes back her hair, cupping her cheek. She's really sleepy now but this story is worth keeping awake for, " _you_ were exactly the best one to remind him how we do the things we need to do because the world needs us to do it."

He smiles at her and she smiles back. "So really, Snowflake, if we can keep on reminding him, we'll be saving the sick man so he can keep doing what he needs to do, too. And maybe once he's all better, and when you're back to being a grown-up, I could even take you to meet him. I bet he'd like to thank you for everything you've done."

She smiles again, practically glowing. "Thank you, Daddy." Then she pauses. "That man didn't _seem_ bad. Was he kind of like the friend?" 

Daddy pulls back a little to look at her better. "What do you mean?"

"The friend in the story, where someone was a bad influence on her and then," she smiles, "her Daddy came and helped her get better. Maybe someone can help that guy be better."

Daddy smiles and snuggles close to her again. "I like how you're thinking, Snowflake. That's exactly the right idea. Sometimes people just need someone to remind them to do the right thing. And _that_ reminds me of another story."

She knows this one. She closes her eyes and tucks herself up against Daddy to listen.

"Once," he whispers against the top of her head, "there was a little girl."

She's so drowsy now and she'll never be able to stay awake, but that's okay because she knows this story from somewhere deep inside her. There was a little girl whose friend gave her all kinds of bad ideas and didn't even stop to help when she got hurt.

But then her Daddy came and found her and even though she'd been really bad, he still saved her and got her a shiny new arm, that's the best part. And then she was good again and she helped fix all the problems with her Daddy and everyone was safe. Safe like she is here, tucked up against Daddy with his words soft in her ears.

His quiet voice and the warm, heavy blankets and the motion of the plane lull her into a deep sleep.


	4. Falling Into Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Daddy's looking at her in that way again. She wants to ask him again if he really does love her, if he isn't disgusted or angry or sad. But she's too scared of the answer._

Daddy's looking at her in that way again. 

Bee nervously tugs on her dress. She wants to ask him again if he really  _does_ love her, if he isn't disgusted or angry or sad. But she's too scared of the answer.

And afraid to bother him with that same question, again and again and again. Daddy's only been talking to her for a few days now, and last time she messed up he didn't come near her for two weeks. She doesn't want to risk upsetting him again. _  
_

_I can be anything you need, and I can damn well make sure I do it without hurting you._

But he keeps looking at her like that when he thinks she doesn't see, and she can't help feeling like he doesn't  _really_ want to be here with her. He wants the older man, but she can't help being the little girl some of the time. 

With her last daddy it was easier because she knew what he wanted and how he wanted her to do it. Eventually he didn't even have to ask her. A hairbrush in his hand, the makeup kit full of colors, "Time to say goodnight to Daddy." She knew the meanings of things. Now she doesn't know anything, and sometimes Daddy gives her that look and she can't figure out what she did  _this_ time. _  
_

"Can we color today?" she asks. Coloring has to be safe; she does it with Tasha all the time.

"Sure we can," he says, and gives her a small, tight smile. She's relieved, but she can't shake that feeling that Daddy isn't really happy with her. 

They sit at the table in Bee's kitchen. Daddy gets right to work with the blue crayon while Bee swings her feet trying to figure out what to draw. Sometimes ideas don't come easily and then she puts the crayon on the paper and the drawings just happen. 

She picks up the pink and gets to work.

Daddy takes longer than she does, working steadily on one piece of paper while she goes through page after page. It's not until she's drifted away, lost in the mechanical swirling motions of scribbling, that he looks up at all. "Hey, what are you drawing?"

It's a girl in a pink dress, but the arm was all wrong, so she was coloring it out. There are a few scribbles on the girl, too, because Bee got a little bit mad at the drawing. "Um..."

Daddy's pulling his chair closer and she gets nervous. She can'thave messed something up again, she  _can't_ have. She risks a few glances at his face while he flips through her drawings. She could rip them up, if they're bad. She could  _burn_ them, or at least have Daddy do it because she's not allowed to use the stove on her own.

"I'm sorry, if..." she's not sure what it is she's sorry for, though, she just knows that she  _is._

"No, you're okay, Bee," Daddy says quickly, but he's frowning.

"What is it?" she asks, because how will she know how to be better if he won't tell her what it is she keeps messing up?

"None of these pictures seem very happy, that's all."

Her face burns and shame settles into her tummy. She ducks her head, hugging Bucky Bear really tight. She should have realized something was wrong with her drawings; Sam's always asking questions about them.

"That's okay," he adds, "Really. I didn't mean to make you feel bad. You can draw whatever you want. But...maybe you could try something that makes you happy?"

She shrugs, still looking into her lap. She isn't sure she knows how. Her drawings so far all just kind of came out like that.

"All right," Daddy says, "You know what? I should have asked you this earlier. What makes you happy? Come on, let's make a list."

"Cookies." Pepper made some last night for her and Tasha. Getting hugs, or when someone tells her she's been good. And she likes pretty clothes. Disney movies. The quacking duck slippers Tony designed. A sudden smile catches her by surprise and she lowers her head again.

"Want to try and draw something happy?" Daddy asks softly, "I could help, if you want."

Her smile gets bigger, hidden behind her hair. "'Kay."

She doesn't take lots of paper, just works extra-hard on this one like she saw Daddy doing. He keeps reminding her to think of things that have made her happy while she's been in the Tower, which rules out the makeup kit she'd been about to draw. But then she thinks of Thor's face when he smiled at her, really smiled like he was actually so happy to see her. He picked her up and threw her in the air and spun her around. And the past few nights Daddy's read her stories at bedtime. Yesterday he promised he'll always protect her.

Her picture ends up having so many things, it surprises her.

There's a smiling yellow sun and two little ducks. There's a bottle of nail polish, from the time Tasha practiced nail painting on her, and Bucky Bear is there too. There's a storybook and a pile of blankets like the one Bruce has in the lab. And finally there is a circle inside a circle inside another circle. In the center, she adds a star. She messes up the star a little bit, but that doesn't matter because when Daddy realizes what she's drawing he  _smiles._ Warmth and happiness flood through her. This is the first time she's made Daddy smile like that. Maybe she can be good after all.

"Perfect, Bee, you're doing great. I love it," he says, and she feels like a little bit of that sun is inside her. She's tried not to touch Daddy much after she upset him that time, but now she leans over and buries her face in his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around her and squeezes tight. He doesn't let go for a really long time.

She has wanted this so badly and she's so relieved she could cry. 

When they finally do pull away she catches a glimpse of his picture. "Whoa," she breathes, "That's really good!" Daddy's picture is full of all kinds of things, rain and snow and animals, Clint with a bow and arrow and Tony's Iron Man suit and Sam with his wings, a big ship with billowing sails floating on a storm cloud in the background. 

Daddy smiles again. "You can have it, if you want. Hey, I'll trade you. Your drawing for mine."

"Okay!" she says happily, running her hands over his drawing. She's in there too, she realizes, wearing a blue hat and holding a baseball and smiling like someone who's used to wearing a smile. She thinks maybe one day she could be like the version of her in the picture.

*

The happiness lasts until lunchtime.

Everyone else is eating steak and fries, but she gets soup and a smoothie instead. They found out the hard way that those other things are too much for her tummy. Eating food is getting easier and sometimes she actually enjoys it now, like the cookies last night. But she doesn't think she'll ever want to try steak again. It tastes like blood and wrongness in a way the others don't seem to notice. The smell is making her throat tighten up. 

She forces herself to swallow down soup, rhythmically and quickly or she'll never be able to keep lifting the spoon to her mouth. That's another thing that makes Daddy unhappy, when she doesn't finish her food. He's not mad, he says, just worried, but she doesn't really feel much better about making him worried.

With her spoon, she lifts a stray noodle up for Bucky Bear, and Daddy gives her a smile. "Is Bucky Bear enjoying the soup?"

"I ate the soup," she points out, hoping to make Daddy happy.

"But you saved a noodle for your bear?"

"It's a tube," she explains, because Bucky Bear doesn't eat exactly like the rest of them.

"A tube?" 

Then Tasha's talking. She's loud, but no one complains. "Bears don't eat soup. At least not any kind of bear I've heard of. They eat honey and berries, mostly."

"Oh. Do we have any?" Bucky Bear seems to be able to go a pretty long time without food, but he can't last forever.

"Sure, tiger. Hey, Pepper, while you're up, could you grab some—thanks. Whoa, hey, don't put that on your bear. It'll get all sticky."

"Sorry," Bee blinks. She can't do  _anything_ right. "How can I feed him?"

"Well," Tony says, "the thing about teddy bears is that they can...do you know what  _osmosis_ is?"

"Uh-uh." The word sounds a bit familiar.

So Tony goes on and on explaining about osmosis, and that leads to more science talk, which makes Bee feel a lot better. Bruce and Tony are really smart and they know a lot of cool stuff. For a while, Tony goes on and on while Bucky Bear osmoses his honey, happy to be fed.

But then Bee catches Tasha looking at her funny. She thinks back to the interruption and realizes something she didn't understand before. She was about to say something bad and Tasha interrupted to stop it from happening.

That's when she panics. She doesn't know exactly why it makes her panic; sometimes she just  _does_ for no real reason and then it gets out of control.

She's starting to feel out of control right now. She tries to focus—how can she stop feeling so upset?—but all she can think about is trying to figure out what the problem was. Being scared is making her memory go bad again. What did she say? What was she doing? She can't remember, and she can't stop herself from making a scared little noise because she can tell the out-of-control mood is coming.

Everyone looks up at her and she finds herself under the table, hugging onto Daddy's legs.

"Whoa, hey," Daddy says from up above, "What's the matter?"

"I don't know! I'm sorry—I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" the upset feeling is overwhelming and she doesn't know how to make it stop. Everyone is trying to ask questions and all she can do is keep whimpering, "I'm sorry." Finally Bruce tells them to be quiet and talk one at a time.

His voice always helps her feel better and he says it's okay if she's too upset to make sense of anything. Every time she says "sorry" he keeps on telling her it's all right. He also says that if she wants to be alone for a little bit to help calm down, that's all right too. Which sounds like a really good idea right now, but she can't make herself move out from under the table.

It takes her a while to build up the courage, and she eases a hand out first. Crawling the rest of the way to the door, her heart pounds. Once she's out of sight, she runs to the elevator.

Back on her floor, she curls up under a blanket on the couch. She can't remember exactly what happened, and trying gets her all worked up again, so she gives up. She holds onto Bucky Bear, wondering if he can tell her what happened and what to do.

But Bucky Bear is only thinking of the honey bottle, abandoned downstairs on the table.

*

He comes back to himself while he's calming down, forcing in each breath on a count of five and staring at the ceiling.

When he finally gets up off the couch, he catches a glimpse of himself in his bedroom mirror and immediately understands those looks Steve has been giving him. He looks like some kind of bad sideshow attraction, a scarred patchwork freak of a man in a frilly little dress and sparkly sandals. He quickly strips himself down, dress and shoes landing in a heap in the corner.

Christ, Pierce made a sickening fucking joke out of him and he spends half his time asking the others to keep it going. He  _needs_ it, he  _is_ the joke by now, it's not even playacting anymore because he actually  _is_ a five-year-old girl some of the time. No matter what he understands right now, there will come another time when he's in a dress with bows in his hair making the others call him "Bee" and they'll have to go along with it. He can't stop it; he's tried.

He stands there in his lace-trimmed panties, shaking and shaking, revulsion rising in his throat.

He can't throw up, because if he does JARVIS will report that he's not maintaining his necessary calorie intake. He already had to force down one lunch. He can't manage another. 

As soon as he can move he's out of the panties and scrubbing at himself in the bathroom. He's already had a shower today, because he pissed the fucking bed last night, but he doesn't care. He needs another one. Can't he just stay here under the hot water and never have to face the others again?

But he needs it, needs _them_ , when he's little.

He can't keep from remembering how he  _felt_ when that bastard brushed makeup over his cheeks or gave him a kiss. And how it felt when he was forced to his knees with a dick ramming down his throat. Remembers Pierce holding him from behind, simultaneously hugging and restraining his arms, pleasure and fear entwined as his pants were eased off of him. He remembers twirling around in skirts and dresses and he remembers lying bloody and alone on a towel in the corner, not allowed to turn away from the wall. He remembers the belt and the backhanded slaps, remembers the cramping of his muscles when he was made to kneel in place for hours on the dark bedroom floor. 

And through all of that, he remembers the way he looked at Pierce. Looked  _up_ at Pierce, even standing nearly a foot over him.  _Daddy._

And Pierce is dead and that life gone, and yet he's still fucking doingthe same exact thing. No wonder Steve looks so repulsed. No wonder the others tiptoe around him. If it were up to him he'd never face any of them again after everything he's done, but he knows he will. Sometime in the near future he'll humiliate himself and sicken them, and they'll have to smile and pretend everything is just fine.

He scrubs his eyes sore and still the tears come. He's just sick from what he's doing to Steve, but he's not going to kid himself that he'll stop. He should have just died in the stupid river. 

When JARVIS reminds him that dinnertime is in half an hour, he sighs and shuts off the water. Someone will come looking for him if he stays here.

He wads up the dress and panties and shoves them into the laundry hamper before pulling out normal clothes, boxers and jeans and a t-shirt. He washes his face with cold water, hoping to ease the redness in his eyes. On his way through the living room, he sees the drawing Steve left for him. Sees himself in it.

His first thought is that it is not, as he thought before, a drawing of him. It is a picture of the Bucky Barnes he saw in the Smithsonian, wearing the tilted hat and blue coat he vaguely remembers from long, long ago and smiling a self-assured smile that he doesn't remember at all.

Except. The man in the picture has long hair. Long hair fading into the mountains in the background, with a little bow on one side.

He can't stop staring at the drawing, trying to figure out what to make of it, and that's where Natasha finds him.

"Dinner," she says, "You're late." And then, catching a glimpse of his eyes, "Hey. Are you okay?"

He nods, still staring down at the drawing. Natasha comes over to look at it, taking his hand even though he's not five right now. "He loves you a lot, you know."

"I know," he mutters, trying to make sense of the warring feelings thrashing in his chest.

She reaches for the drawing. "May I?"

Together, they tape it to the wall over Bucky's bed.

Natasha waits with him until his eyes are no longer red and swollen, and leads him down to dinner.


	5. From Hope to Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Today's for you, remember? You get to decide how we do it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for a rape scene in the beginning.

"Please don't make me. Daddy, no, please, I can't!"

She can't tell if she actually said it until the foot slams into her ribs and sends her crashing to the floor. Huddled on the polished wood, she trembles with dread and stunned disbelief. Today had been so good; how could she have messed it all up? How could she allow herself to ruin everyth—

The foot catches her between the shoulder blades, rolling her over, leaving her coughing and mumbling apologies into the hardwood.

He's ripping up her skirt and yanking aside her panties and telling her she  _will_ cooperate or he'll leave her here all night. His arms wrap around her and they're almost gentle.

But she knows what comes next. She forces herself to stay still this time. "Okay, Daddy. I'm sorry," she whispers against the floor.

It starts abruptly, more so than usual. That, she knows, is part of the punishment. No time spent relaxing her with his hand, none of the slippery gel to help Daddy go in easier. Just the pushing, picking up speed right away. "You're— _sorry?_ " he grunts.

"Yes," she chokes out through her teeth.

She clings to the fabric of her shirt, wanting Bunny, as she's slammed againstthe floor. Inside her is a splitting pain. it would've been so much more gentle if she'd just said okay, and she'd have had her bunny too.

"Say—it—again—" Daddy thrusts in once for each word.

"M'sorry," she chokes obediently, focusing on remaining limp.

"What're you sorry for?"  _Slam;_ she bites back a cry.

"Sorry for—saying no to you—an' being bad."

"You'll be good now?"

"Yes, Daddy," she wheezes as he yanks her hair back.

"You'll do the things for Daddy you're supposed to?" He gets his mouth right up against her ear. "You'll show me how you love me?"

"I love you, Daddy," she manages before he lets go of her hair. Her face slams into the floor.

"Good," he shoves in again, "it's almost over, the punishment—and then we'll do it the nice way—since you're behaving now." He grabs hold of her skirt, yanking her hips up, and shoves—

"Hey! Are you okay?"

She wakes, wheezing and confused.  _Moving_ , she's in a—

The  _car._ Right. And, thank God, she's not wet. Her lungs tighten even more as she realizes how _stupid_ she is. She has to be careful not to just fall asleep in places.

"Bad dream?" Tasha nudges Red Panda's nose against her arm.

"Uh-huh." Bee begins to shake, feeling sick. She gropes around until her hands find Bucky Bear, and she holds onto him tight. She's losing the memory of the nightmare but she still feels bad and dirty and afraid, so she can sort of guess what it was about.

"Sorry, Bee. I didn't realize you fell asleep.  _Someone_ can't follow directions and got us lost on a street we've driven—"

"It was a  _shortcut!_ " Clint protests.

"—probably a  _million_ times so I had to help get us there. You okay?"

"I..." she whispers, "I dunno if I wanna go outside after all." Everyone looks at her with concern, and she stares guiltily at her lap. She doesn't want to ruin this trip for the others, but...the trial. 

All the stuff she never wanted anyone to know about her—it's national news now. She got a little taste of how people would think of her when she heard the reactions in the courtroom. There'll be a lot more people than that in the city. She's been all over TV. What if she's recognized?

She thought she was prepared for that. She  _wants_ to go exploring and see all the cool stuff everyone's told her about, the museum and Central Park and she'd  _definitely_ like to go back to that toy store. Miriam and Cornelius had suggested she just do one thing for a little while to get her adjusted to being out in the world, but she was feeling brave and she wanted to do  _everything._ Last night Pepper helped her glue rhinestones on her tracking bracelet, the two of them talking about all the fun stuff to do in Manhattan. She was a little nervous, but she thought she was ready.

Now she's shrinking back from the window, up against Tasha. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Today's for you, remember? You get to decide how we do it," Tasha reminds her, but that's not really true. Today is at least a little bit for Tasha, because she doesn't get chances to play when Bee isn't around. And Daddy was really looking forward to taking her out around the city.

But—in the Tower, everything looks different. When she's not looking out from a high-up window, all the buildings loom tall and shadowy, and she's right among all the  _people_ swarming the street, walking right alongside the car. She knows the windows are tinted. No one could see in unless they pressed their face right up against the glass. But it still feels like they're all staring at her, knowing, knowing everything she did and everything her last daddy made her do.

"We can stay in the car as long as you want, Bee," Daddy says from Tasha's other side, "And if you decide you still don't want to go, we'll drive right back to the Tower, okay?"

"'Kay," she mumbles, curling up in her seat and wrapping her jacket around herself.

"The museum has rooms inside that are pretty dark," Tasha says, "We could just stay there and no one would really notice us. Plus...there are some exhibits with bears."

Bee's got her hood pulled over her face, but she can already tell Bucky Bear's fuzzy ears have perked up. "Okay."

*

They only really make it to a few rooms in the museum because Bucky Bear keeps wanting to come back to the bears, and all the other predators too. Bee reads the exhibit captions aloud for him. Daddy gets a little bit worried because some of those exhibits show the animals hunting other animals, but Bucky Bear wants to observe. And anyway, it's pretty obviously fake blood, so Bee is okay.

And Tasha's right, no one looks at them twice. A few people glance at Bucky Bear, but then they move on and everything is fine. Tasha and Bee and Clint chase each other around the giant whale. Tasha keeps making Finding Nemo jokes, though, and that movie makes Bee really sad.

When they're at the exhibit with the giant squid fighting the whale Tasha grabs onto Bee like the squid. Bee shoves her off, giggling. Tony says something about evil squids that Bee doesn't really understand but it makes Bruce kick him in the ankle. 

Clint says if she likes the museum so much, there's actually a really funny movie about it where all the exhibits come to life. Bee looks at the giant squid and thinks nervously that she'd be a lot happier if all the animals just stayed still in their exhibits, although Bucky Bear reassures her that he could take the whale and squid both. At once.

After the fifth stop by the polar bear exhibit, Bee is feeling a whole lot better than she did back in the car. She tugs on Daddy's shirt. "I think I'd actually be okay to go out in the city."

"You sure? It's your first time out." Except for the toy store and the church, but he means it's the first time she's been out since the trial. She tries really, really hard not to think about the trial.

"Yeah. Can we come back here another day?"

"Sure, Bee, whenever you want to. There are lots of rooms we didn't even get to yet."

Bucky Bear really just wants to come back and see the bears again, but Bee thinks it's only fair if they do the things Daddy wants next time. "Okay."

*

They didn't really have a set plan for the rest of the day, so they end up wandering around Manhattan looking at all the different stores.

Bee wants to go back to the toy store, but she's too nervous. It's because of the media. She's not exactly sure what people are saying about her, because her Internet access is restricted. But she knows the basics. There are lots of people who don't understand about her being little. There are lots of people with kids who might especially see her as a threat.

She doesn't understand it. If they were afraid the Winter Soldier would hurt their kids, that would be one thing. Sometimes children did get hurt on missions, but thinking about that makes Bee feel sick.

But there's another kind of fear, and it doesn't make any sense. Bee would never make any kids play the kinds of games her last daddy played with her. She remembers how bad those games could feel.

She declines a visit to the toy store.

"We could take you shopping," Pepper suggests, "If you saw anything you liked, we could probably make it for you. Ooh, like those." She points up to a store window. "You liked those overalls you have, didn't you?"

"Uh-huh," Bee says, carefully not looking at Tasha or Clint. She's pretty sure she's never wearing overalls again.

She _had_ liked them a lot at first. They were purple corduroy overall shorts that Tasha had proclaimed to be "adorable".  She'd liked them rIght up until she had to go to the bathroom. Things like buttons and snaps are tricky sometimes, especially since she was nervous that she wouldn't make it and her hands were starting to shake. She'd been doing bear missions in the playroom with Tasha and Clint and she'd waited maybe just a bit too long.

She'd started to have an accident and panicked, calling out for help. Her pants and the floor got a little wet while Tasha was undoing her straps and Clint had to go get her new clothes while Tasha calmed her down in the bathroom. They both promised again and again that it wasn't a big deal and they'd never tell anyone, but Bee still spent a lot of time hiding in her room after that. Her face heats at the memory.

"I think something like  _that_ would look good on her," Tasha says, tugging Bee past the overall display, "Like, that kind of dress."

But for once, Bee isn't looking at the clothes. She's looking at the  _people._ None of them are looking back at her. Everyone has their eyes on the ground, or the sky, or shopping windows or maps or phones. She's in the middle of a swarm of people and none of them are giving her a second glance. She thinks she could do this more often.

"Well, I don't know about Russians and super soldiers and, uh, Russian super soldiers," Tony says, "But my fingers are freezing off. Come on, let's go inside somewhere. I'm delicate."

"I thought you were Tony the Great and Powerful," Bee says, and Clint snorts into his glove.

"These stores are gonna be really crowded, though," Tasha says, "I think we should try them another day. Why don't we find a smaller restaurant or something?"

"Coffee shop?" Clint asks hopefully.

"Coffee shop," Tony confirms.

They find a place that smells really, really good. It's got a few tables that aren't too close together so Bee doesn't feel overcrowded. She gets hot chocolate and a giant cookie, and Tasha gets foamy vanilla coffee and a donut.

"Coffee, Tasha? Is that a good idea?" Pepper murmurs. Tasha just grins at her and takes a giant gulp. Sometimes when she's excited the others have to remind her to slow down and use her inside voice. Bee's pretty sure that's going to be the case if she finishes the giant coffee drink. Her own hot chocolate is better than any kind she's ever tasted. Tasha said there's real chocolate in it, and Nutella.

"We're feeding the kids pure sugar and caffeine," Pepper mutters, "I'm pretty sure we'll regret this." She just has plain coffee. The store only has one gluten-free option, a kind of pastry with strawberry filling. "I can't eat that either," she'd said glumly. "I'm—"

"—allergic to strawberries. See? I got it right. I remembered—" Pepper gives Tony a look, and he shuts up. Bee feels really bad for her, because being gluten-free makes it hard for her to eat anything at all. At least everyone else is happy with what they got. Bruce has tea that smells like cinnamon and honey, and he lets Bucky Bear osmose some of the treat. Bucky Bear is happy at the chance to warm up. He never complains about the cold, but Bee knows it doesn't make him feel good. Maybe someone can knit him a little bear hat or some mittens.

For a while, they just sit and enjoy their warm drinks. Daddy steals some of Bee's hot chocolate, but Tasha takes a piece of his cinnamon bun while he's not looking. After a while Bee starts to feel the effect of drinking three hot chocolates in a row, and she gets up to go to the bathroom. Before she can get in, though, Tasha's putting her hand on the door. "Uh, Bee. While you're out in public, people might...I mean, if you go in the girls' room, someone might say something."

 _Oh._ Bee's insides crumble as her face turns red. It's not like she hasn't forgotten before. Earlier this month she ordered a new box of pull-ups that leaked every time she had an accident, and she hadn't understood why until she realized the kind that's "for ladies" was made for bodies different than hers. And just this morning Tasha helped her pick out a different outfit, saying she could wear whatever she wanted wherever she wanted to, but if she was trying not to attract attention to herself, then maybe...

Sometimes it hits her really hard, the full weight of the thing that her last Daddy did. What he made her into, what she still feels like now, what she can never really be.

She wants to sit down on the floor and cry, but Tasha grabs her hand. "It's okay. Remember what we say?"

"Anyone can be any gender no matter what their body's like," Bee recites, "and no matter what anyone else thinks about it."

"Right. I just wanted to make sure you were prepared for things other people might..." she sees Bee's face and stops. "Okay, it's okay. It doesn't even matter, look. This place has single-person bathrooms."

It hadn't occurred to her that there could be any other kind. She whimpers, imagining going to the bathroom in a room full of ladies. _O_ _r_ a room full of  _men._  She starts to say never mind, she'll just hold it till they get back to the Tower. But then she squirms and realizes she's not sure she could even make it to the car. She really did drink a lot. Still...she glances around to see if anyone is looking, face hot.

"You're fine, Bee!" Tasha says quickly, "I won't let anyone say anything bad to you, you know that. Just go, okay? Either bathroom is fine. Me and Bucky Bear will guard the door."

She really can't wait any longer, so she does what Tasha says. But afterward, she stares at herself in the mirror, thinking.

The outfit Tasha picked out is meant to be inconspicuous. She's got on black jeans and a blue shirt with a navy jacket over it. She also has one of Tasha's baseball hats to kind of hide her hair and face. She's got a little braid down one side and her glittery tracking bracelet, but really, she...

It always catches her off-guard when she looks like a man.

 _Anyone can be any gender no matter what their body is like. Any gender can wear any clothes no matter what society says. Anyone can be any gender no matter what their body is like. Any gender can wear any clothes no matter what society says._ She runs her hands under the faucet for a long time, telling it to herself over and over and over again. When she finally comes out, Tasha pushes Bucky Bear into her hand.

"I'm sorry, Bee," she murmurs, "I just wanted to warn you. I didn't mean to make you feel bad. Come on, it's been a good day, hasn't it? You think it's time to go home?"

Bee nods. Time to go home.

Walking back to the car, Daddy has his arm around her shoulders, and Tasha slips a gloved hand into hers.  _Anyone can be any gender no matter what their body is like._ Pepper finds her outfits and braids her hair. Tony makes girl clothes that fit her, and Tasha paints her nails and calls her _sister_. She starts feeling better, leaning her head on Daddy's shoulder. And when Tasha scoops up a handful of snow and dumps it over her head, she retaliates with a snowball. 

Tasha can't let that stand, and so everyone ends up in a giant snowball fight, with Pepper and Bruce trying to stay out of the crossfire. By the time they get back to the car everyone's covered in snow, Daddy holding even tighter to Bee to make sure she's not cold.

Her face is freezing, but she can still just register the kiss on her cheek.

*

Later on, she's lying on the couch in the living room, wrapped in a fuzzy nightgown and wearing her duck slippers. They're having a movie night in their warmest pajamas since today was so cold, and they're watching  _Night at the Museum._ Bee and Tasha keep giggling and shoving each other. "Hey. Dum-Dum. You give me gum-gum!"

"Inside voice, Tasha," Pepper says wearily, right as she tackles Bee with an armload of blankets. They both start giggling again. Bucky Bear is briefly indignant at this onslaught, but Bee wraps him in a blanket and he's happy again.

"You in trouble, Dum-Dum. You better run-run!" Bee pushes Tasha over on the couch.

"We're going to be hearing that for the next month, aren't we?" Tony mutters.

All too soon, it's time for bed. "Nooo," Tasha protests, hiding Bee under a blanket. Daddy just picks her up, blanket and all, kissing the top of her head. She's still laughing as he carries her off to the elevator.

"Did you have fun today?" His smile is small and tired, but real. Daddy almost never looks like he's really happy. He's always worried or upset or sad over something. But right now he's just smiling.

"Uh-huh." Bee manages to wiggle her head all the way out of the blanket. "Bucky Bear liked the bears. And I liked the hot cocoa and the movie. And the snowball fight, and, uh, looking at all the cool stuff outside."

"We can do all kinds of stuff now," Daddy promises, "Whatever you want, Bee."

"Can we, at least one more time, go back and see the bears? Bucky Bear really wants to." Bucky Bear hadn't known there were exhibits all about bears up until this afternoon. If he had, he might not have been so reluctant to leave the Tower.

Daddy leans over to kiss the bear's head. "We can do whatever Bucky Bear wants, too."

In the bathroom, she brushes her teeth and swallows tonight's dosage of medications. If she misses even a few doses in a row she starts to get sick and her head goes bad. If she does that too many times the medicine might stop working and the doctors will have to figure out a whole new combination. Getting used to the drugs was bad enough one time, so Bee has a sticker chart on the wall to help her stop forgetting. Pink stars are for morning meds and purple are for night, and when she's collected twenty of both colors she gets a reward. Today was her treat, so now she has to start collecting all over again.

After she puts today's purple star on the chart, she goes to the cabinet and steps into a pull-up.  _For men_ , the new box says, but she bites her lip and closes the cabinet.

Daddy's waiting on the bed. "Which story do you want tonight?"

They read  _If You Give a Mouse a Cookie._ Bee nestles up against Daddy, propping up Bucky Bear so that he can see too. Daddy pats his head. "I think we should write one about bears."

"If you give a bear a berry," Bee murmurs sleepily. Bucky Bear argues that food deprivation is no trivial matter, and Bee pats his head and promises she'll never stop giving him honey.

She's drifting off no matter how hard she tries not to. Today was a really big day. They did a lot of stuff and being out in the cold made her tired.  She's vaguely aware of the sound of the book closing, Daddy sliding out from under her. He tucks her in, kissing her forehead, and she manages to murmur "Love you."

She's almost completely drifted off when, "Psst. You awake?"

"I am  _now,_ " she mumbles.

"I can't sleep. Wanna come to my room? And we can make brunch in the morning, and build a blanket cave in the lower bunk, and—"

"M'too tired to move." She hates to disappoint Tasha, though. "You can stay here if you wanna."

"You sure?" She's never invited anyone to sleep in her room, and she hesitates for a moment. She's only wearing her nightgown, and if it slides up in the night her pull-up will show, and if she leaks she might get Tasha wet. But she doesn't really know how to take it back.

"If you'll be quiet and let me sleep." She won't, though. She's still all hopped up on sugar and caffeine; she'll probably bounce on the mattress and hit Bee with pillows all night.

"Yay!" Tasha slides under the covers, putting Red Panda next to Hawkbear. "Hey, Bee?"

"Uh-huh?" Snuggling closer to Tasha, she's already falling asleep again.

"You know, what I said today...I really didn't mean to make you feel bad. If anyone ever gives you any trouble I'll stick with you, okay?"

"'Thank you," Bee murmurs.

"Night, Bee."

"G'night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So another chapter got added to this thing because the last part didn't fit in smoothly with the rest of the chapter, and it was already getting pretty long. So chapter 6 is a direct follow-up to this one.
> 
> The museum they visited is New York City's [Museum of Natural History](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Museum_of_Natural_History), and the rooms Bee spent the most time in were [this one](http://aobpv2dqiek1gwxxe3svfwlr.wpengine.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/www.WinstonStruye.com-6180-1024x678.jpg) and [this one](http://famouswonders.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/am-museum-of-nat-hist.jpg). Anyone who's been there—care to guess which exhibit was [Bucky Bear's favorite](http://farm8.static.flickr.com/7281/9257231594_54d33cfac7.jpg)? (The Avengers really should have gotten worried about him a lot sooner than they did.)


	6. Our Children Are Making Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"It's all right. You don't have to act like you're okay when you're not."_
> 
> Bee and Tasha both lived in places that were hard on children. Talking to someone who understands can really help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is actually the end of the "girl!Snowflake" chapters, and I hope you all enjoyed. Chapter 7 will be a bonus chapter in response to another prompt. That one will probably take a while to be posted, because it's going to be long.

They've come for him.

He should never have thought he could get away from any of it. They're coming for him and there's nowhere he can hide. Because you don't just walk away from HYDRA. They're going to get Steve if he doesn't—

"No, you're safe. You're all right." Natasha, in his ear, here and not lying dead outside, here and squeezing his shaking hand. "Shh. We're all okay. I'm having JARVIS check on the others right now."

"They're all right? They're not—" Bucky chokes, "—HYDRA didn't get them?" If anything's happened to them, if anything's happened to Steve, it's his fault for bringing HYDRA here in the first—

"They're fine, Bucky, it wasn't real. You know that, right?" Her stare is bright and intense. It's the first thing he becomes aware of.

"Just a dream," he says uncertainly. He's lying in his bed, lying in bed with Natasha. He's surrounded by teddy bears and and blankets and the crayon drawings taped to the walls. He's wearing a fleece nightgown festooned with teddy bears and, under that, a wet pull-up. He flushes instantaneously, but even these things help him remember what's real.

And anyway, he's used to waking up embarrassed in skirts and dresses. There's not a whole lot he can do about it; when he's five he likes sparkles and frills too goddamned much. At least the teddy bear nightgown is warm. 

"Yeah. They're not here."

He needs to get cleaned up, but his stomach falls out at the thought of being alone. If he's alone, the not-real things can _become_ real. If he's alone, they can...they...

_"Soldier, to me. Take aim."_

_"I'm..."_

_"You're what, defective? What? What do you think you are, Soldier? Take. Aim."_

"Tasha." She's clinging tight, feeling faint and dizzy. Her blood pounds in her ears.

"Yeah, Bee?"

"I...I'd feel better if I could take a shower, but..." She flushes hot again. That's what she always says when she wakes up wet, but she's scared that one day Tasha will see right through it. "...I can't. Can't be alone. They'll get me."

"They're not real, Bee," Tasha whispers, "They're not really here."

"I know," she says miserably, "I just...I..."

"Do you want me to come to the bathroom with you?"

She doesn't. She needs to get rid of her wet pull-up, and how can she do that if Tasha is there? But...

But she's not safe. She's _compromised._ HYDRA agents may not be running through the halls of the Tower, but they're still in her head, still pulling at her. Telling her she has to come with them, telling her she's become so bad, she's in for the worst punishment ever. Once they've got her, they could make her hurt Daddy. They could make her...

"Yes," she mumbles, embarrassed at being so needy, "But wait outside the door till I get in the shower, okay?"

Under the soothing spray, she feels a whole lot better. She's not cold and itchy anymore, and she's really, really not with HYDRA. Hot showers weren't something they let her have, anyway. The asset got washed with a hose in a maintenance stall, or cleaned with sterile wipes if he'd been injured too badly to be sprayed down. Sometimes Daddy gave her baths, but never showers.

"You can come in," she calls shakily. Earlier she'd grumbled about being kept up by intermittent whispering and pillow-whacking, but now she's really glad she's not alone. 

She used to have this kind of dream all the time. She remembers, suddenly, how very real it all seemed; HYDRA stopping her insides from working and draining away all her blood, leaving her a real ghost like the legends said the Soldier was. And even that dead, she still dragged on, faded and numb, unable to stop...

She huddles under the spray. "Tasha?"

"Yeah?"

"What would we do if they did come?"

The others always try to stop her from taking like this.  _It's not real, Bee,_ they'll say,  _HYDRA's not in the Tower._

"I think it would depend what they did," Tasha says carefully.

"Would I be allowed to help fight them?" She already knows the answer. She's not allowed to fight, never allowed to touch weapons, and if she got near HYDRA again the others would just worry they could make her do what they wanted again. They're probably not wrong; even now, she gets so  _confused_  sometimes.

"If you had to protect yourself," Tasha pauses, "And there are different ways of fighting than you think."

She wishes she could do it Daddy's way. Daddy fought HYDRA a long time ago, and she used to help him, but she can't anymore. "What do you mean?"

Tasha's slow to answer, and Bee almost stamps her foot in frustration. The others sometimes tell her things just to make her feel better, but Tasha's usually not like that.

"Ask me again tomorrow," she says, "It's a really important thing to talk about, but not when you're all tired and confused. There's all kinds of stuff that's not about violence."

Bee really hopes that's true. It's hard enough to live with how much bad stuff she did even without the knowledge that she can't do anything to fix it. And ever since HYDRA fell, half the work the Avengers do is cleaning up the mess that she helped make. 

But she can't think about that now. She's already too upset.

The girls whisper back and forth, Bee asking questions to make sure everything is real and Daddy's not hurt and she's safe. Tasha never gets tired of answering her, even if she asks some of the same questions again and again. She doesn't mean to be annoying, but HYDRA was really good at making things seem real that weren't. With HYDRA, though, she wasn't usually allowed to ask lots of questions. Tasha lets her ask as many as she wants. Finally, Bee feels okay to shut the water off, although she thinks she's still too anxious to rest.

"I know what we can do," Tasha says, "Meet me in the living room?"

When Bee comes out, tugging at her nightgown to make sure she's covered, Tasha has a pile of blankets and pillows waiting. Bee knows right away what she has in mind.

They turn the furniture upside down, draping blankets over the tops. It's not as big as one of their usual forts, but good enough for just one night. With Red Panda guarding the entrance and Bearvenger sentries posted at various vantage points, Bee and Tasha can snuggle up in the middle of Fort Bear and rest safely.

Inside the fort, in a cozy nest of pillows, Tasha combs out her damp hair with her fingers and they talk about their next adventure out of the Tower. "Maybe Daddy could show me the place where we used to live," Bee yawns, "But I bet it's all different now."

"We could go exploring, too. Central Park, maybe. I bet Bucky Bear would like some new places to have adventures."

"I think Pepper really, really wants to take us shopping." Tasha's braiding her hair into sections now. Pepper taught them how to do that last week, but Tasha's better at it than she is. Bee's metal hand doesn't feel as well as her other one, so braiding with that one is tricky.

"I'd be okay with that." Tasha wraps her braids around her head, forming a crown. "Maybe we could go to Build-a-Bear and Bucky Bear could have a shopping day too."

"I think he'd want to just keep his coat," Bee thinks, "But we could get him some boots for missions and stuff." She squeezes Bucky Bear's foot. "Also a hat for when it's cold."

"Well, Bear Widow wants to go shopping," Tasha says decisively, "And Hawkbear needs pants that stay up during missions." She gently cards her fingers through Bee's hair, undoing the braids. "Oh, and I think they make original Captain America outfits for teddy bears."

"Captain Ameribear might not like that," Bee yawns, "That costume had tights and these tiny little shorts. Daddy felt ridiculous."

"I keep forgetting you've actually seen him in tights and booty shorts," Tasha brushes her hair back into place, "Now we're  _definitely_ getting an original Captain Ameribear costume."

Bucky Bear is of the opinion that neither he nor Captain Ameribear should be made the subject of such ridicule, but that tights and booty shorts would be a suitable replacement for the pants that Hawkbear keeps losing. Tasha says Hawkbear would probably be fine with that.

Feeling like she could maybe fall asleep again, Bee curls up in the mound of pillows, tugging down her nightgown. Tasha flops over beside her.

"Sorry I made you get up," Bee whispers.

"It's okay. I don't really mind."

"I didn't mean to scare you." Tasha tries to act like nothing scares her, but Bee could tell she was worried. "I'm really sorry. I should know by now, the nightmares are really not real."

"Bee, no. It's all right. You don't have to act like you're okay when you're not. I used to get a lot of the same kinds of dreams." Absently, Tasha rubs Bucky Bear's head. Bee nudges him over to her, because she thinks Tasha needs a bear hug and Red Panda is busy guarding the fort entrance. "I'd wake up thinking...a couple times Clint tried to wake me up from nightmares and I'd give him a nosebleed, or a black eye. Uh...I broke two of his fingers once."

"He wasn't _mad_?" True, Daddy wasn't mad when the Soldier almost beat him to death—and shot him—but Daddy also heals quicker than most people. He was out of the hospital in maybe a day. 

"Nope." Tasha's voice sounds kind of far away, like she's thinking really hard. "There was one time he did get kind of upset. But I didn't really understand why till later."

Bee knows exactly how that feels. She's not sure if Tasha will tell her the story, but she goes on. "So, they used to handcuff us to our beds at night."

Bee's first thought is how bad that would be for anyone who needed to go to the bathroom. She thinks that in the place where Tasha came from, accidents would probably be punished.

"For the newest girls, it was just so they couldn't escape. But as we got older, we'd still let them do it. It wasn't about not escaping anymore. It was more like...it was a kind of ritual, I guess. It felt like safety."

Tasha sounds like Bee does in therapy when she's trying to tell a really hard story, so she's careful not to interrupt. If she stops Tasha from talking, she might not be able to start again.

"No one really talked about it, and it was really just a little thing. I never thought about how not-normal it was. Even on missions, I'd handcuff myself to my bed." Tasha rubs her wrist. "Sometimes...a mission meant I had to share a bed with another person, and then I couldn't put on handcuffs. And that meant I couldn't really sleep well. As soon as I went back, I'd let them lock me up again. If they weren't there I'd just do it to myself."

There's a bad feeling in Bee's tummy. "Me, too," she whispers.

"I know. It was...when I was first with SHIELD, they didn't let me have any weapons. Not handcuffs, either. Nothing. And that's probably a good thing, because of all the times I woke up and beat up Clint. He'd just  _let_ me, too," she says thoughtfully, "He'd keep talking to me and letting me hurt him."

Bee thinks back to the blurry tangle that starts off the beginning of her first unbroken string of memories in seventy years. A plummeting platform of glass in a flaming, crashing world, failure and fear and a compelling, confusing voice  _I'm not gonna fight you. You're my friend._

And, tummy squeezing up, she thinks back to hitting him again and again, all confusion and terror and rage, begging him to fight her. 

"They took away my handcuffs and I couldn't sleep at  _all._ I used to ask Clint if he could just get me some string or something. If he would tie my arm to the bed. It wasn't...I didn't trust SHIELD, then, not at all, but...if no one was telling me when I could eat, what I should think, if no one was locking me to my bed at night...if no one owned me, I felt so..." she makes a vague gesture with her arm, like she can't find the right word, but Bee knows just how she felt. "I didn't know what to  _do._ "

Bee understands. She understands exactly what Tasha means.

"He found me, one night...he came back from a mission and I'd taken the laces out of one of his shoes so I could tie myself up. He didn't even notice he had no shoelace. You saw how that one time his pants fell down because the string was broken. He's kind of hopeless," Tasha says. 

She remembers that happening. A couple times, actually. 

"I was mad at him for waking me up. It was the first time I'd slept in, like, a week. But when I woke up, my head was clearer. I knew where I was and I didn't try to break his face...so he let me keep the shoelace. But the way he looked at me, when he first saw me like that..." Bee has never, ever heard Tasha sound like she's ashamed of anything. She shifts closer to her and gives her a hug as best she can while lying down.

It sounds like it was a really bad time for Tasha, but Bee has to admit the story has made her feel a lot better. There were a lot of times she didn't know what she was doing, and lots of times she got scared and confused, and times she made Daddy really upset without knowing what she did wrong. 

Her doctors have tried to tell her she's not alone in the things that happened to her, but she could never really feel like that was true. But Tasha used to go back to people who did bad things to her. Tasha hurt Clint when he was trying to help her. She had to figure out a world where everything she knew turned out to be wrong.

And Tasha's one of her favorite people in the whole world _._ If Tasha can be good...if she messed up a lot of things but she's all right now, and she's good, she's an Avenger and Bee's big sister, then maybe...

"Hey, Bee?"

"Uh-huh?"

"I don't really tell these stories to people. And I'd appreciate it a lot if you didn't either, okay?"

Bee knows how rare it is for Tasha to talk about things like this. "I won't, I promise." She considers suggesting that Tasha should maybe talk to a doctor like she does, but she doesn't think Tasha would. Cornelius and Miriam would probably be really good to her, though.

"I didn't mean to throw all that at you. I just meant, you can wake me up whenever you need to. My head...was still really messed up in lots of ways for a really long time." Tasha pauses, sighs. "Maybe still a little messed up. It's okay if yours is, too."

Which is good, Bee reflects sleepily, because her head is definitely really messed up. She's not taking as much medicine as she used to, but it's still a lot, and her doctors say they're not sure if she'll ever be able to get off the pills completely. They don't fix everything, either; she got really confused tonight. "Thanks."

"Falling asleep?"

"Uh-huh. Hey, Tasha?" Something's just occurred to her. "I'm not...I don't know if I'd really know how to help anyone else, but what you said about not having to act okay...the same goes for you, all right?"

Tasha's really quiet for a long time, long enough that Bee thinks she may have fallen asleep, but then she says, "Thank you." Probably tomorrow morning she'll have her guard up again, but right now she's hugging Bee really, really tight. "I mean it. Thanks."

Though she feels calmer now, Bee still can't help worrying. She has a lot of what her doctors call 'anxiety' and 'paranoia' but it's not like those feelings are baseless. She lives in a scary world where bad, powerful people used to hurt her. Some of those people are still out there. Someday, they really could come for her and her family. Ready or not, Bee might have to face that problem at any moment, and that makes her scared.

But for now, nestled up inside Fort Bear, watched over by the Bearvengers and Red Panda, she and Tasha sleep safely and peacefully through the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been really fun to write. The Avengers don't really make Snowflake conform to traditional gender roles, so any differences between him and Bee would have to stem from things Pierce said or did specifically for the purpose of further degrading the Soldier. But those differences all took different directions the longer Bucky was with the Avengers, so it was really interesting to think about how he would develop. Bee is, in many ways, just like Snowflake, but there are a lot of ways in which her life is notably different. The Avengers each respond to her a bit differently, too. 
> 
> I also took a lot of liberties with with Lauralot's Snowflake and Tasha, especially in the past couple chapters. I hope they still come across as reasonably in-character in their circumstances.


	7. Me, Myself, and I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through otherworldly magic, Bucky's identities have been separated into three different bodies. Bucky, Snowflake, and the Winter Soldier all learn to cope with this new life—and with one another—while the spell lasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the bonus chapter! Based on [this prompt](http://buckycurtis.tumblr.com/post/125772547624/in-the-au-where-the-asset-the-kid-and-bucky-are) by ravenously. My head got ideas and I couldn't resist.
> 
> Happy birthday, Lauralot! (And happy birthday to ravenously a day early!) I hope this pile of ridiculousness is an adequate present.

He’s been tossing and turning in bed because it’s hard to fall asleep without his bear; the kid took him somewhere, probably to Steve's room. He’s been nervous these past few days, trying to adjust to his tiny new body.

The poor thing. He'd felt small enough even when he was big.

Bucky’s been sharing this room with the kid—they’re both used to sleeping here, and neither of them could give up Bucky Bear. But tonight Little Bucky is elsewhere, and he's taken Bucky Bear with him. Bucky never would have thought he'd feel such a compelling urge to snatch a toy away from a child.

He’s just starting to drift off when a tiny hand squeezes his arm. “Um…”

“I’m up, kid, what’s the matter?” Bucky’s trying to ignore how _bizarre_ it is talking to someone who’s literally him in miniature, right down to the tiny metal arm. Not to mention the shared name. Would it make the kid cry if they just started calling him Snowflake?

(Well, it would make _Steve_ cry. So that’s out.)

“It’s Winter.”

That has Bucky wide awake. “Did he do something?”

“Um. I think he might’ve had an accident.” Little Bucky mumbles, “He’s really upset. I don’t like when he’s upset.”

“Me neither, kid.” Go figure. Bucky wouldn’t have thought the Soldier would have that problem; apparently the Soldier hadn’t thought so either. If he knows Winter, he isn’t taking it well. “Come on—what are you doing?”

Little Bucky is trying to scoop all the bears into his arms. He could hardly carry them even when he was big. Bucky sighs and returns to the bed. He and the kid don’t always agree on everything, but they both know just how important bears can be.

“These guys are pretty hard to carry. I think we should ask Tony to make them a Quinjet.” Maybe it could be remote-controlled. They could fly it into Rumlow's window one day to bug him.

Little Bucky’s eyes go wide. “Yeah! That’d be so awesome!”

The Buckys and the bears make their way across Bucky’s floor. Little Bucky holds onto the fabric of Bucky’s pants; he doesn’t like the dark. Wordlessly, Bucky scoops him up, and the kid wraps his arms tight around his neck. Hawkbear and Hulk Bear are sandwiched between them, but they won’t mind getting squished. After all, Hawkbear didn’t mind getting dog slobber on him, and Hulk Bear is too tough to even notice a little squishing.

“He keeps saying he’s definitely not crying, he just doesn’t feel like taking the pillow off his head,” Little Bucky informs him.

The world’s most dangerous assassin, folks.

Not that Bucky has room to talk.

He tests Winter’s door. It isn’t locked, so he steps inside.

“Hey, Winter.” And if it’s not weird enough talking to the kid, he’s got his dead-eyed lookalike on his hands. Things have been rough on Winter. He only wants to please Steve, but Steve’s unsettled by his presence, and he can tell. And now there’s _this_. Bucky knows all too well how he feels.

He is indeed curled up on the bare mattress, pillow pulled tight around his head. It’s harder to console him than the kid; most comfort will be taken as a sign that he’s been weak.

And he probably isn’t all too reassured by how well Bucky knows the inside of his head.

“Hey. You’re fine, you’re not gonna be in trouble or anything. Just get up for a sec.” He does, and stands staring at the floor, hair hanging over his face. Bucky knows his tension well. He’s been promised no physical punishment, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe from verbal blows.

“Wanna hold Captain Ameribear?” Little Bucky blurts out, sliding out of Bucky’s arms. Bears spill to the floor. Winter takes the bear, staring at in in a puzzled sort of way. “He likes you,” The kid adds.

Luckily, the mattress isn’t wet—all the sheets in Bucky’s apartment are the protected kind that Tony gave him—so it’s a simple matter of putting new bedding on the bed. Winter even pulls it together enough to help him, with Ameribear nestled under his arm.

Then he goes back to hiding under his pillow, and of course the kid can’t go to sleep with Winter upset. He climbs up on the bed and covers the Soldier in bears, insisting that Bucky tell them a story.

And that's how Bucky ends up snuggling the Winter Soldier and reading _If you Give a Mouse a Cookie_. The kid, nestled between them, quickly drifts off to sleep, leaving Winter and Bucky staring awkwardly at each other over his head.

Bucky was really only reading for the kid’s sake. To Winter, it must seem pointless. But when he starts to close the book, Winter stiffens and glances at the page.

“You want me to keep reading?” Bucky says, surprised. Winter looks at him blankly. Right. _Want_ is kind of a weird concept for him. “I’m gonna keep reading.”

He tells the story over and over until he falls asleep over the pages. He wakes to find Winter still lying rigid in the bed, watching over them with his blank-eyed gaze. Bucky knows he's only being protective, which is kind of reassuring, but damn, he didn’t realize just how _creepy_ it is.

He thinks he understands why people used to get nervous around the Soldier, because that unending stare is making his hair rise.

*

“It’s like an electric blanket, but it goes cold instead of hot,” Tony says without looking up and before Bucky can ask what he’s doing on his floor, “I’m installing it on his bed.”

“The cold probably helps him sleep,” Bucky realizes.

“You know, you could’ve let us know that _before_ Pepper found him napping in the freezer. Scared the living hell out of her.”

“I’m sorry—” Bucky tries to apologize, but he can’t help laughing. “I _am_ sorry, it’s just—”

He can’t get out the rest of the apology. He can see it all too well: the Winter Soldier, nestled up in a pile of ice cubes, contentedly snoozing with his head resting on the beef. Perhaps cuddling a frozen turkey.

He’s cracking up now, laughing harder than he has since he was the kid. Tony’s just staring at him as he leans against the wall, wheezing.

“Steve can’t hear about this, it’ll kill him,” Bucky manages when he can finally breathe again, “Don’t mention it to him, and I’ll talk to Winter about not sleeping in the fridge. Oh—” something else occurs to him. “That electric blanket. Can it get...I mean, would it be machine-washable?”

Tony realizes what he’s saying right away. “Uh...I can fix it so the wiring is waterproof. But also...that offer I made for you and the kid? It stands for the evil twin as well.”

He’s talking about the pull-ups he designed. Apparently one thing the kid did retain is the capacity to leak through any store-brand protection on the market. Bucky could’ve killed Tony when he came back with matching Avengers-themed pull-ups for him and the kid, but it seemed to make Little Bucky happy, and since then, neither boy nor man has had a mishap. Bucky, for his part, is pathetically grateful not to have to worry about wetting the bed with the kid next to him.

“Don’t mention it to him, all right? I can’t promise he won’t actually kill you. Just...give them to me and let me handle it.”

*

Perhaps Tony harbors more of a grudge against the Soldier than he let on.

“Tell me you’re kidding,” Bucky demands, leaning against a workbench and putting a hand to his head. “Do you have a death wish? You have a death wish. You’re going to get us both killed, you do know that, right?”

“Ah—” Tony winces, “Not so loud. I feel like I got Mjolnir in my head."

“You're hungover.” Bucky makes no effort to lower his voice. “You were drunk when you made these, weren’t you? Because that is the only way this could seem like a good idea.”

The pull-ups Tony made for Bucky and the kid are festooned with smiling Hulks and purple arrows, teddy bears and Steve’s shield. Ridiculous, but if it makes the kid feel better, then Bucky can live with it. It’s not like anyone has to _know._

But these. These pull-ups are _pink_. They’re pink and covered in little cartoon squids.

Tony’s too fucking hungover right now to make new ones, so Bucky takes the damn things and tucks them discreetly into Winter’s pajama drawer, bracing for the worst.

And is surprised when evening falls without a word from Winter. He spends no more nights melodramatically hiding under a pillow, and Bucky thinks he even catches him smiling—Bucky thinks that’s the Soldier’s version of a smile—into the drawer.

He doesn’t say a word.

*

Winter's jealous. Bucky can tell without looking over.

He's allowed to use the gym; he was going a little stir-crazy without his training exercises. Unfortunately, when sparring, he has a little trouble grasping the concept of backing down. So he’s been relegated to the exercise machines and the free weights. He watches from afar while Bucky goes a few rounds against Steve, and Bucky can feel his envy radiating across the room.

Today Bucky’s not holding back much, and so he’s got Steve coming at him full force. The two are so locked in their pattern of swinging and dodging that they barely register the fourth presence entering the gym.

It's not uncommon for the kid to hang out on this floor. Little B, as Clint's taken to calling him, needs a lot of exercise, but he doesn't get a lot of chances to go outside. So he spends a lot of time running on the treadmill or climbing all over the exercise equipment.

So Bucky's not paying him any attention until he hears Winter's urgent warning,  _"You can't lift that!"_ followed by a _clang_  and a cry of pain.

That brings Bucky and Steve running. Wordlessly, Bucky and Winter each take an end of the heavy weight, gingerly lifting it clear of Little B's leg. Steve's kneeling, rolling up the kid's pant leg. "Are you okay?"

"I don't _know_!" The kid's voice breaks. Steve kneels down, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Okay. It's okay. Let me take a look at that foot."  

"I forgot," Little B mumbles, staring at the floor, "I forgot I'm too small, I—"

"It's okay, Buck, I should've been watching. Doesn't look like anything's broken. Think we still ought to get it looked at, though." Steve scoops Little B into his arms, squeezing his shoulders. He's really got this "Daddy" thing down; it's strange to watch, but kind of endearing. Steve's never been very good with kids; sometimes it hits him, how much he learned to do just for Bucky. They head for the elevator with Winter trailing behind.

It's always tense when Winter and Steve end up in close proximity. 

The others at least try, with him. Clint compares shooting techniques with the bow and arrows, and compliments him on his aim. Nat meets him on his level, Bucky's noticed, speaking to him minimally and directly but still trying to slip in subtle reminders that he's a person. Bruce sends him recordings for guided meditation because he's not used to keeping so many thoughts in his head. Thor spars with him, remaining jovial and friendly no matter how ruthlessly Winter hits. And Tony, well, Tony never shuts up in his praise of the arm.

But Bucky knows what Winter really wants, knows just how bad he wants it. And Steve can't even look at him.

Bucky understands. The Winter Soldier is a creepy subhuman wreck with dubious morals wearing a pale, dead version of his face. Is it just because Bucky knows him so well—can Steve really not see how broken and desperate he is?

Bucky's pretty sure he doesn't, but to Winter it's painfully obvious. He thinks he's weak and failing, thinks it's his fault that Steve doesn't want to be anywhere near him.

 _Talk to him,_ Bucky wants to say,  _Tell him he's okay, tell him he's doing good. Give him something, Steve, anything._

But Bucky can't quite make himself say it. It's fucking humiliating, what HYDRA stripped him down to, and begging for validation would only make it that much more apparent. Neither Bucky nor Winter wants pity.

And anyway, he's not sure Steve could force the words out; he doesn't have it in him to lie.

*

Not that Winter's completely lacking for affection.

When they come down for movie night, he's sprawled out on the couch with Lucky on his chest, his head resting on Natasha's thigh as she winds her hand through his hair. For the first time since becoming his own entity, Winter appears to be at ease.

"Tasha!" Little B hops up on the couch, injury apparently forgotten. "Pepper's bringing caramel popcorn and she says you and me get to pick the movie! Can it be Little Mermaid? Please?"

Everyone else just stares. 

"Again?" She runs a hand over Winter's ribs and back up to his hair. 

"You know," Tony says, "You're really cuddly for a cyborg assassin."

Winter tenses, but Natasha starts rubbing his back again and he relaxes. 

Bucky sits between Steve and Natasha. Steve holds the kid on his lap, occasionally squeezing his bruised foot to make sure it's okay. 

Natasha has half of Winter's hair in braids, and he'll probably be pissed when he sees it, but right now he doesn't seem to mind at all.

And it's not like they're ignoring Bucky, it's just that he's looking back and forth between the Soldier and the kid and he feels so _hollow_. It's like something's been sucked out of him and he can hardly hold himself up anymore.

He tries. The movie is some comedy, and Bucky pretends to laugh when the others do, but he's looking at the kid in Steve's lap and the Soldier in Tasha's and he's struck with the sudden urge to cling onto both of them.

That is, until Winter begins to shudder and gasp, head jerking to one side. He's having a nightmare; Bucky hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep.

Natasha swears. "Don't wake him up!"

Bucky's about to ask what the problem is, but he has a sinking feeling he knows. When he leans forward to look around Natasha, his suspicions are confirmed. There's a large wet stain on Winter's sweats, and on the couch around him.

Bucky's face flares red because it's his shared body, too, because this means if they see Winter they might _know_. But he doesn't have time to worry about it. He's too busy wondering if he could plausibly claim that the movie ended and everyone left the room.

But it's too late. Even as Steve's asking what's wrong, protectively shielding the kid under one arm, Winter's eyes snap open. He freezes, and even in the dark Bucky can see the horror that crosses his face.

"It's nothing," Natasha says just as Winter scrambles off the couch and onto the floor. He's visibly trembling, trying to get himself under control. With a mix of humiliation and pity Bucky recognizes a standard position he used to assume for punishment: Winter's on his knees, head down, hyperventilating. Bucky's on the floor with him now, trying to look him in the eye, but Winter won't raise his head. He's choking out a mixture of languages, but Bucky can understand him painfully clearly.

"Hit me. I'm sorry, just punish me, fix me,  _just hit me!_ " But when Bucky tries to touch his arm he's up on his feet, eyes wide with a trapped-animal look.

"It's all right, Winter," Natasha tries, but it's Steve Winter's looking at. With an anguished little noise, he bolts from the room. Little B starts to whimper, trying to wriggle out of Steve's arms.

"I'll go after him," Bucky reassures B, "It'll be okay."

"I don't feel good when he's upset," he whispers, his eyes shiny and threatening to spill over, "What's _happening_ to him?"

"It's—kid. Remember..." Bucky hadn't planned for this, but he finds himself sitting down next to Steve, taking Little B into his arms and holding tight. "Remember when we first got here and we weren't used to life without...uh, without things like the chair and...and all that stuff? He's just getting used to that too. We still got a lot to figure out, but we'll get there. We'll be all right."

"But if he  _needs_ that stuff..." Little B's eyes are wide. 

"No, kid, it wasn't...it wasn't a good way to...we're not doing that here. I'm gonna go see if I can find another way to help him now. You stay here with Daddy, okay? He'll take care of you."

Little B doesn't look entirely convinced, but when Bucky hands him back to Steve he doesn't object. Bucky leaves the room, carefully not looking at any of the others.

*

Winter didn't make it far.

JARVIS directs Bucky to a walk-in freezer a few floors up. He's crying; Bucky can hear him trying to bring himself back under control, choking and sobbing. The sound makes him feel sick.

"Hey. Uh, not trying to surprise you...I'm coming in, okay? Please don't kill me." Bucky crouches down, easing himself into the darkness. He tries really hard not to think of the cryo tank as he swings the door shut. Across from him, he hears a sniffle. 

"I don't want to kill you," Winter says in a shaky voice, which is and isn't a surprise. Bucky's felt that presence inside of him for so long, the Soldier's ongoing conflict, his protectiveness despite the disobedience and weakness and everything else that Winter aspires to avoid. "At times I believe...you're that one that wants to kill me."

That catches Bucky off guard. He realizes, with an unpleasant jolt, that it's not an entirely baseless statement.

When they were one, he never let Winter have any time on the surface. The Soldier had no place in the Tower; he was not welcome there, and still isn't, really. The only reason he's still here is because the others are afraid to let him out. They want to keep tabs on him. They've been friendly—no need to make an enemy of the Winter Soldier if you can avoid it—but that doesn't change the fact that they're watching him. That they don't trust him. And even Bucky hasn't been on his side.

It's the Soldier who carried out the deeds that everyone reviles, the things it still sickens Bucky to remember. A fair amount of his time has been spent trying to recover from being the Soldier, to leave Winter far behind him. It hadn't even occurred to him that Winter was as much a part of him as the kid until they split into three separate beings. It should have, but it didn't, and _that_ is why they're having this discussion while huddled in a freezer.

"I don't want to kill you, either," he says slowly, shivering as the cold begins to seep into his skin. He shifts so that he's not sitting in a pile of ice chips. "You're...observant. And careful. You've been trying to keep me and the kid safe. And Steve, too, am I right?"

Winter is silent. "I'm not good enough. I'm a failure. I've tried to make up for who I was before, but it's no matter. I can't atone. I've become weak...Captain Rogers doesn't want me."

"He doesn't  _understand,_ " Bucky corrects him, "Not your fault."

It's _weird_ , he reflects, to be saying this stuff to Winter, because he kind of does blame himself for every failing and every flaw. It's strangely soothing to sit here in the dark, telling Winter all the things he wishes he could believe, with no one to hear but a row of frozen turkeys. He's rapidly coming to understand a whole lot of things all at once.

Something Bucky's had to deal with is the sneaking feeling that people don't really like him. But Winter's self-worth is dependent on validation and approval, and he  _knows_ people don't like him. He's only just figuring out  _why_ , and everything he used to know no longer applies. He's desperate.

And now he's finally starting to gain an understanding of how he was manipulated, the horrors for which he was truly used. Without the chair taking away his connection between one event and the next, without the constant manipulation, without the ever-present fear of punishment for daring to have an original thought in his head, the questions are beginning to creep in.

The things people say...now Winter knows it's _true_. "It's not your fault," Bucky repeats, "None of it."

For a long time, there's only the hum of the freezer. Winter is entirely still, silent. Then Bucky hears him take a deep, shaky breath.

"I...this... _weakness._ It's filthy and...disgusting. I couldn't expect him to want me now."

Bucky doesn't have to ask what he's talking about. With a shudder only half due to the cold, he remembers Pierce snapping those exact words. Remembers waking terrified, cold, turning to seek comfort and instead being shoved to the floor. "But he still wants you. And the child. I'd hoped...if... if it's worth anything to him, I'm trying to fix it."

"Trying to fix it..." and then Bucky gets it, why he chose to hide in the freezer. He crawls across the frosty metal floor, wrapping his arms around Winter's shivering body, sharing what little heat he has left. "No, buddy, that's not how it works. I'm sorry, you can't cryo-freeze yourself into oblivion every time you get upset. Come on, out now."

Winter never disobeys a direct order, and so he allows Bucky to lead him to the door. "I'm still a failure. What...what do I do?"

"Um." Bucky hadn't honestly figured on giving life advice to the Soldier. "Well, first off, you're gonna want to shower. And then...I don't think they're looking at this like you do. They won't be upset over what happened back there." 

"In general. I'm still a failure. I only know how to be...bad. I _want_ to be good. What do I do?"

It's a little weird how much Winter sounds like the kid at times. "You're not a failure." He remembers what Cornelius used to tell him in his first days at the Tower. "You're a person. And things work different here. You're allowed to have questions for things you don't understand. Hell, they'd probably be glad to hear you start asking. And, uh, if you want something, you can say so." He can think of a million ways that could go wrong, actually. "You know what? Just let me help you."

He realizes there's a lot more to say. So much that Winter missed because Bucky kept holding him back. "I _will_ help you, all right? I know there's all kinds of shit you've still got to figure out. We'll get there." Arm around his hunched shoulders, Bucky leads him to the bathroom. "Come on, let's get you in the shower. If you want, I'll read to you before bed or whatever. I could even find you some stories that aren't kids' books."

Winter just stares at him. "I...that one."

"That one? The same one? I mean, sure, it's fine. I'll read you that one."

"I  _like_ that one," Winter corrects himself, testing out the phrase.

"Sure. Okay. It's a good story." Bucky's really more of a Disney fan himself, but sure. 

*

Later that night he finds himself in Natasha's room, holding onto Bear Widow. Little B has taken Bucky Bear somewhere, and Captain Ameribear keeps finding his way back to Winter's room, so Bucky's been left to substitute in the other Bearvengers just to get a little sleep.

Winter's quite possessive of Captain Ameribear, and won't let any of the others touch him. Bucky remembers how tightly he clung to Bucky Bear, even as an adult, in those couple weeks when he and Steve were avoiding each other. Steve had given him Bucky Bear and that was all he had left.

So he lets Winter keep Ameribear.

Natasha's sitting on the floor and playing a game on her iPod. Without looking up from the screen she asks, "He okay?"

"I talked to him. Think he will be. He, uh...might not come down for a couple days, but..." he shrugs, "...I actually wanted to talk to you."

"Am I about to hear why you were sulking through the whole movie?"

He's startled and a little abashed. It's not smart of him to forget that Natasha is a lot more perceptive than Steve. "Uh, maybe. _Sulking?_ "

"Yes,  _sulking._ I could swear you were still five."

"About that..." Bucky fiddles with Bear Widow's arrow necklace. "I...fuck." There's really no good way to have this conversation. "I fucking miss it, okay? When I was a kid I could sometimes get a break from having to think too hard about shit, and it was just  _fun_ , and..." his face is burning red. There's so much else to say. When he was a kid Steve would hold him and brush his hair and he'd feel safe. He misses feeling that safe, misses the hugs and sleepovers and pillow forts and being carried around the Tower.

Not that long ago he'd been utterly humiliated by his little side. He'd have done anything to have the kid taken  _out_ of him, but now...

"I just miss it," he says again, and "miss" comes out with a lisp. "And I, um...I thought you might, too..." He's suddenly scared she'll be mad, or laugh at him, or tell him to go back to his room. He holds tight to Bear Widow. "...and...Tasha? Can we just...can we still play?"

A smile grows on her face and relief spreads through him. "Yeah. Yeah, we can."

He feels like crying as he crawls beneath the covers of the lower bunk. He hugs onto her, shaking, and she hugs back really, really tight.

*

The next morning, Winter doesn't appear at the breakfast table, and Little B jabs at his eggs with his fork, too anxious to eat. That's when Bucky decides he's just going to have to suck it up and have this conversation. He pulls Steve into the other room. "You need to talk to Winter."

Steve shifts uncomfortably. "What about?"

"Anything. But give him something, Steve, he thinks he's a failure."

"Bucky, I—"

"Last night he tried to fix himself by crawling into the freezer," Bucky says relentlessly.

"Buck," Steve says through gritted teeth, "I can't—he just reminds me of what they did to you, I—"

"He's more than just—Steve, come on, give him something. Could be anything. Tell him you'll help him, tell him you love him—" Bucky's cheeks flare red, "—find something _good_ to say to him. Anything at all, Steve. He'll take whatever he can get."

Steve is silent, and that hurts worse than a blow, shaking Bucky down to the core. "God _dammit_ , Steve, he's a part of me too, don't you get that by now? He's not just something I can leave behind in the snow—" that's low, but Bucky's past caring, "—he's a person too and he doesn't  _know_ it, Steve, they used to tell him they'd put him down if he wasn't good enough. They'd tell him he was a failure if he didn't—Pierce used to leave me alone when he got mad, sometimes he'd say maybe this was the time he wouldn't come back and I'd _believe_ —"

Steve's looking at him with the most unbearable sort of pity, all remorse and self-blame. He's trying to give him a hug, but Bucky backs away. "I'm not telling you this to make you feel _sorry_ for me, Steve. You can't let him live like this. He's trying so hard, Steve, and you can't—he's me, all right? And you can't keep saying you love me and—and then leave him out in the cold!"

Steve's staring, taken aback. Bucky hadn't realized how long he'd been keeping this in, how bad it hurt. He's about to apologize for his outburst when Steve says, "All right, Buck. How can I help?"

"You could read to him," comes a small voice from the doorway. Steve and Bucky both jump. Bucky's not sure how long Little B's been listening, but judging by his wet, shining eyes, it's been long enough. "He likes reading. Or being read to. We do that when I have bad dreams."

Bucky hadn't known that. Sometimes he and the kid rouse each other from nightmares, but more and more often he's woken to an empty bed. Has Little B been going to Winter's room?

"He always says I'm safe," Little B mumbles, "And there aren't any threats around. And then we read. But he wasn't in his room when I went to find him last night."

**THE WINTER SOLDIER IS LOCATED IN THE CLOSET OF HIS BEDROOM, MASTER BARNES.**

Steve takes B's hand. "Come on," he says, "Let's see if we can talk to him."

*

Winter's not coming out.

"Winter, it's me and Bucky Bear," calls Little B, "He's really worried about you. And Big Bucky and Daddy are here too."

Silence. 

"Are you okay? It's all right if you're not. That's what Miriam says, remember? You don't have to answer or anything. Just do something so I know you're okay."

A pause. Then a light tapping comes on the closet door. 

"I have a new book. Tasha and me went to the store to get it. Um, they didn't have any new ones about bears. But the store lady said bats are good too. She said this is one of her favorite books. It's called Stellaluna."

Silence.

"You don't have to come out. I could just read it at the door. But it's got pictures."

The closet door slides open, but Winter doesn't come out. Little B sits cross-legged on the floor, holding up the picture book. His voice shakes a little, but he starts to read, running a finger along the page to help keep his place. He stumbles a little over some of the words, but he's a lot more fluent than Bucky remembers. How many nights have they spent reading together?

Little B doesn't even look up when a leg eases out of the closet. Bucky pulls Steve down to the floor. Standing over him is not the image they want to present to Winter, not when he's like this.

Winter moves gradually, glancing nervously at Steve. Bucky stays as still as possible, like he would with a frightened animal, and Steve follows suit. Bucky follows his gaze to Captain Ameribear, tucked tightly under Winter's arm, and then to Winter's pale, unshaven face, the shadows under his eyes, the red marks all down his right arm where he must have torn at it with the left.

Little B crawls right into his lap, setting Bucky Bear next to Ameribear. Once they're all positioned so that both Buckys and bears can see the pages, Little B reads on.

At first it's a sad story about a baby bat getting separated from her mother, and Bucky worries that this will be like Finding Nemo all over again. But the story turns out to be really, really sweet, even if Steve ends up brushing at his face every so often. 

Winter takes over the reading halfway through, and the kid rests his head on his arm. Steve and Bucky are silent, watching the two of them.

When the story comes to an end, Steve moves to rise. Winter freezes, eyes locked on him. Steve sits back down and scoots over to him instead, resting a hand on Winter's shoulder. "Thanks for looking after him," he says softly, "And keeping him safe."

Winter draws in a breath. Bucky's guessing he doesn't know how to respond. He finally has what he wants; now he's terrified he'll mess it up. "What else can I do?" he asks finally.

Steve hesitates. "We'll figure everything out as we go," he says finally, "For now...we could read more stories."

"Me and Bucky Bear can get them!" Little B says happily. And so they spend the next few hours on the floor reading Disney stories and Dr. Seuss, with Winter nestled between Bucky and Steve. Little B might also be cuddled up in Winter's lap, but it's hard to tell under the pile of Bearvengers.

Bucky suggests something a little older, maybe some Tolkien. Little B offers to compromise with Harry Potter, and Bucky Bear demands Corduroy. Steve smiles and says it sounds like they'll have to spend a lot more time reading together.

*

Winter starts showing drastic improvement now that Steve's talking to him. He eats three meals a day, mostly unprompted. He stops trying to crawl into the freezer and manages to resist attempting self-punishment. Tentatively, he begins to ask for things he needs, glowing when Steve tells him how well he's doing. And on Thursday, for the first time, he speaks in therapy.

That startles everyone. Both Bucky and Little B are used to the doctors, but Bucky Bear and Winter have remained quietly mistrustful.

Well, sometimes Bucky Bear isn't so quiet. Fortunately, Miriam and Cornelius don't speak Bear.

Winter's presence unnerved the doctors, Bucky could tell, though as always, Miriam has acted like nothing bothers her. But it's creepy and perhaps a little terrifying the way he sits motionless on the couch, just staring.

Little B opens this session, holding Winter's hand and talking a mile a minute. It's been a good day for him; he slept through the night and woke up dry, they had pancakes for breakfast, and Steve read Sleeping Beauty three times. As far as he's concerned, today has been perfect.

"Daddy's not mad at Winter anymore. Or, I mean, he never was, but we _thought_ he was." Little B bounces on the couch, squeezing Winter's hand. "But he's not, and now we all read together."

"Do you enjoy reading with Steve?" Miriam addresses Winter. She and Cornelius have both tried to talk to him, but for the first time, he replies.

"Yes. I don't know why, but yes."

"Engaging in recreational activities, alone or with others, is a healthy practice," Cornelius says thoughtfully, "Are there any other things that you enjoy doing?"

"Eating pancakes," Winter says uncomfortably, after a pause. "And...when Natasha braids my hair." His cheeks tinge pink.

"Huh." Little B wrinkles his nose. "You can do that, then. I don't like when people braid my hair. And Tasha and Pepper _always_ want to."

"You're allowed to say no to things you don't want to do," Miriam reminds him.

"I think it reminds me of the older games," Winter says quietly, "Is that a problem?"

"The older games? Can you clarify that for me?" Cornelius asks.

Winter hesitates, and Bucky gets a bad feeling. 

"You've said that his attachment to the Secretary...isn't a problem." Winter gestures toward Little B. "Does the same apply to me?"

"Of course," Cornelius leans forward, pushing his glasses up on his face.

"My former master could act kind at times. Before I understood the extent of the lies...off-mission, we would go to his house and play the nicer games. There weren't punishments, at least not frequently." Winter's reciting now, staring at his knees, sounding far away and a little sad. "But he stopped being happy with me and nothing I did could please him. There were games I didn't understand after that."

"The ones where he made me little?" B guesses.

"Not at first. There was one where I was told to lie on a bed, tied up. He said things that might have been meant to demean me, but I only found them confusing. He would tell me to do painful things to myself and to say that I liked it, but when I did he wasn't satisfied—" Winter stops suddenly, and Bucky wonders if he's remembered something particularly nasty. But then he realizes Winter's looking at the kid with concern.

Little B is shaking, his hands locked around Bucky Bear. His mouth is trying to move, but all that comes out is a slight whining sound.

Bucky doesn't remember any of the stuff Winter's talking about. But it's clear that Little B does. 

Miriam is asking him if he needs a break. Winter and Bucky position themselves on either side of him, rubbing his back and stroking his hair. "He  _cut_ me," Little B whimpers. "He tied me up and—and cut me with a s—a skinning knife, and made me keep saying I _wanted_ him to. And I kept _saying_ it, and he kept  _doing_ it, it didn't  _end_ it hurt all over I was so scared and I kept, I tried—" he's wheezing, gagging, and throwing up on Bucky's shirt. Bucky holds him close anyway, and tells him it's okay, but he feels like he's been hit with a truck.

He still doesn't remember that. And Winter says he doesn't, either. But Little B, sobbing and spilling out a broken mess of words, describes it all too perfectly. The slow scrape of the knife, Pierce's concentration as he cut in this pattern or that one, the moment when the Soldier finally broke and showed weakness.

Then, after, lying on the bed, clinging to Pierce, having earned the scraps of affection he'd been denied for so long. It hurt to be held, but he clung to Pierce anyway—wanted it. By then, he did want it. 

"Daddy..." Little B keeps whimpering, trembling, and Bucky knows he's not talking about Steve. " _Daddy..._ "

*

"Someone preset the oven," Pepper instructs as she guides Little B's hand around the mixing bowl. "James, there are some butterscotch chips in one of these cupboards if you—what?"

Bucky looks up to see Winter's troubled look and instantly guesses the problem. "You're not  _really_ allergic to butterscotch, don't be a baby."

Winter turns affronted eyes to him, and Little B cries, "Yes he  _is!_ And if he eats it he could get really really sick!"

Therapy went into overtime, Miriam and Cornelius sticking around to make sure all three Buckys had sufficiently recovered from the day's revelations. Afterward, Bucky had decided they needed a little time spent doing something nice, and Little B had suggested cookies. And then Winter had remembered Pierce's cookies, but Pepper's are way better. They're basically instant therapy without the pain.

"All right, fine, sorry," He holds up his hands, amused, "We'll just make two batches then. More butterscotch for me."

"And we have to give them special shapes!" Little B adds, pouring chocolate chips into the mixing bowl. "Like someone should make an arrow for Clint, and Daddy's shield."

"And a Mickey Mouse one for Nat," Bucky suggests. He anticipates and catches the ball of cookie dough sailing toward his head, popping it in his mouth. Everyone's been sternly lectured on eating raw dough, but super soldiers don't get sick.

"Uh-huh," Little B says without really paying attention, pressing mismatched little handprints into two blobs of dough. "An' iron man for Tony and a cup of tea for Bruce and, um...Winter, do you want one?"

Winter is clearly startled, then uncomfortable as all eyes turn to him. He's silent, unaccustomed to the attention, and Bucky realizes that people don't tend to offer him choices like this. Tony came closest to that, with the—

"Squids?" Bucky suggests, because he can't think of anything but those goddamned pull-ups. The edges of Winter's lips tug upward. Bucky watches him struggling to keep his face free of expression and shakes his head. "All right, squids."

It's painfully obvious how damn grateful Winter is to have an entire tray of cookies made just for him. He seems a little overwhelmed, actually, unsure that he's really being given unlimited access to the treats. Bucky helps out by by biting off a squid head. He decides that, although you can't beat chocolate butterscotch, Pepper's red velvet cookies are pretty decent too.

Little B is somewhat more helpful, snuggling into Winter's lap and poking red velvet tentacles into both of their mouths. Winter can't disguise his enjoyment of the warm cookies.

"You like them?" Pepper asks him hesitantly. Bucky sees him stiffen, eyes wide, trying to detect some trick. Carefully, he nods. She smiles and slides another tray into the oven, and Bucky can feel Winter's relief. Within minutes, the squids have been eaten.

And if Bucky catches him nibbling at a butterscotch handprint, well, he keeps his mouth shut.

*

"What the  _hell,_ " Rumlow mumbles, stirring on the couch.

"Just so you know, this was not my idea." Bucky makes a grab for the kid, scooping him up. He's vibrating with excitement, and Bucky just barely manages to stop him from leaning right into Rumlow's face. The last thing he needs is for Rumlow to deck the little guy. "The other two dragged me here."

"We got you a Brock Bear! We got you a Brock Bear! Look, he has guns and a stun baton, and he has a can of AXE and a bottle of that stuff you always put in your hair!"

Bucky snickers. Rumlow groans and hauls himself forward, directly into a half-eaten box of pizza. Then he groans louder. 

"Come on, get it together." Bucky pulls him into a sitting position. "We brought you a present. It's a teddy bear. Try to contain your enthusiasm a little, huh?"

"Someone explain this shit, right fucking now." Rumlow blinks and stares at the three of them, Bucky holding Little B under one arm, Winter standing in the corner by the window. 

"A form of magic of unknown origin, longevity and reversibility uncertain," Winter recites when no other answer is forthcoming.

"Winter. Nice to see you. This one here's just an asshole." Brock, apparently deciding not to question his life any further, examines the teddy bear. "Huh. Got the gun designs right."

"Winter helped!" Little B wiggles under Bucky's arm, apparently with no objection to being carried like a football. "I wanted Tony to make the guns actually work, but he just made them make fart sounds." He frowns. "But that was after he drank a lot from the bar, so don't be mad at him."

"Yeah," Bucky chimes in, "Vodka does that shit. Like that time you got really drunk and—"

"We said we'd never bring that up again," Rumlow growls.

"I never even said which time!" Bucky says brightly, pressing the trigger on one of Brock Bear's guns. The loud fart noise makes Rumlow wince. "God, Tony's so immature. You know, drunk Tony might actually be worse than drunk you."

"He got me stuck to a magnet," Little B agrees mournfully, placing Bucky Bear next to Brock Bear.

Rumlow puts his head in his hands. "Why are you here?"

"To play bears! And also Winter missed you."

"I'm just here for the food. You makes the best pancakes. Speaking of which—" Bucky snaps his fingers and gestures toward the kitchen, "—Winter likes them in the shape of squids. Little B likes Merida from Brave, good luck getting that right, and I'll just have three regular pancakes. With extra chocolate chips."

"Do I look like a fucking to-go service?" Rumlow sways where he sits before regaining control of himself. 

"Yep," Bucky says, heading for the kitchen.

"I'd rather have pancakes shaped like the bears," Little B says aloud, "And Winter likes red velvet. Are you okay, Commander?"

"Fine," Rumlow mutters.

Winter still shadows him to the kitchen, looking deeply concerned. Bucky makes a mental note to check the number of pill bottles under the sink.

While Rumlow is fishing pans out of the cabinet, Bucky pulls Winter aside. "I have a job for you. Watch him make the pancakes and memorize the recipe exactly, okay?"

Winter nods, looking ridiculously determined. It's his first mission in months, and dammit, he wants to perform _perfectly._

*

"Good pancakes," Steve says through a mouthful of syrup,  _"Really_ good."

"Winter got me the recipe," Bucky shoves half a pancake into his mouth.  _God_ , these are incredible. "He did most of the cooking, too."

"They're fantastic, Winter, thank you," Steve says, and Bucky can practically  _feel_ him glowing. His pancakes are drizzled over with butterscotch sauce. Little B claims that Rumlow's pancakes contain a special butterscotch allergy cure, so he's okay to eat what he wants now.

"If you say so," Bucky loads another stack of pancakes onto his plate.

*

The magic is wearing off.

Bucky, sitting in bed with the kid drifting off beside him, can tell right away. B sits up, gasping and pale, looking somehow faded, and Bucky feels something stirring inside him for the first time in weeks. He feels little, _really_ little, not like the mindset he gets into when he and Tasha play nowadays. He feels sharper, too. He hadn't realized just how much the Soldier observed until the instinct wasn't in him anymore.

Little B is trembling, holding tight to Bucky Bear. Bucky hugs him, feeling him grow less substantial. Something about him is lighter, more delicate.

"It's okay," he says softly, "It's okay. I'll take care of you, I promise. I'll take care of you and—"  _Winter._ Bucky suddenly realizes he must be fading away alone in his room. 

He scoops up the kid, and Bucky Bear too, carrying them across the floor. Little B is whimpering into his shoulder now, and Bucky doesn't want to imagine how terrifying it must be for him to feel himself disappearing. He shushes him, hugging tight and lacing his big metal fingers with the kid's tiny ones. "Shh. I've got you. It's okay if you're scared. I'll take care of you."

Winter sleeps peacefully, though he looks even paler than usual. Captain Ameribear is nestled under his metal arm. Bucky considers letting him rest, but he sighs and climbs under the blankets anyway. It seems wrong to let him slip away without a word to him, and the kid needs both Bucky and the Soldier right now.

"Christ, this is cold," Bucky mutters, tucking Little B between the two of them. He'd forgotten about the electric blanket. Over Little B's head, Winter's confused eyes meet his. "Kid was scared, so I brought him to you. Thought he'd feel better with you to look after him."

Winter's face is pained and confused, and Bucky slips an arm around him. "I think the magic's wearing off. It's okay, though. I've got you."

There's something strangely soothing about the heavy, chilled blanket, though Bucky usually doesn't like the cold. He makes a note to keep it and try it out on the nights when he can't sleep. 

Clinging to Bucky's shirt and Winter's, the kid's shaking eases a little. Bucky wraps his arms around both of them, and Bucky Bear and Ameribear too.

"I..." Winter whispers, his face becoming terrified, "I..."

"Yeah?"

" _Feel._ Not good." He's shaking, and Bucky knows how he feels. He's  _absorbing_ Winter back into himself, taking on more and more of that feeling by the minute. Of course he's terrified; he can feel himself disappearing, back to the place where Bucky kept him hidden and beat him down for months on end.

"It's okay if you're scared," Bucky assures him, "I know you don't feel good. I'll take care of you, I promise. You and the kid. It's all right, lamb," he tries, testing out the pet name Steve uses when the kid's in desperate need of comfort. It seems to help; Winter sighs shakily and shuts his eyes, burying his face in Bucky's shoulder.

"We should tell stories," Little B whispers faintly, "I'll start. If you give a mouse a cookie, he's going to ask for a glass of milk..."

Bucky can feel the Soldier part of himself being soothed by the story. He can also feel his little side calming down because Winter's not so scared. Little B recites stories in the dark, again and again and again, until he finally crashes out. Bucky strokes his hair and kisses his forehead, feeling himself beginning to drift off as well.

But he can't abandon Winter to quietly vanish on his own.

"Hey," he whispers, "You can go to sleep now, all right? I know you've been watching out for me and the little guy, haven't you? And you've been doing a great job, Winter. But I want you to let me keep watch for now, all right? It's my turn to take care of you. Come on, we'll do the story again. If you give a mouse a cookie, he's going to ask for a glass of milk..."

It helps. Winter's breathing begins to even out, and on Bucky's third retelling he's fast asleep.

Bucky looks over the two of them, feeling deeply sad. He's really going to miss having the little guy around, and Winter...

Fuck. He'll miss Winter too.

But really, it's not like they're going anywhere. They're not going anywhere at all.

Bucky squeezes Winter's shoulders and pulls the kid closer. He gives them each a kiss on the forehead, then rests his head on the pillow, letting his eyes slide closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU takes place sometime shortly after the events of [A Bad Feeling](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4442534), hence the butterscotch mention. 
> 
> The inspiration for Winter's pink squid pull-ups came from [this incredible work](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3136073) and from [this design](http://feanorinleatherpants.tumblr.com/post/108480350850/do-you-think-the-pink-background-is-too-much#notes) by [Feanor_in_leather_pants](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Feanor_in_leather_pants/pseuds/Feanor_in_leather_pants).
> 
> The idea of Bucky promising to take care of the Winter Soldier was in part inspired by [this amazing fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3316508) by [Maelipstick](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Maelipstick/pseuds/Maelipstick), and I absolutely recommend it.
> 
> It has been really weird referring to Snowflake as Little B.
> 
> A note on Bucky Bear: one might think that, since the Winter Soldier is a walking, talking entity in this fic, Bucky Bear would have gone silent or become redundant, but that's not exactly the case. I'm kind of seeing all three Buckys hearing Bucky Bear as a different, less confused version of the Soldier. (Lauralot specified that Bucky still runs 'maintenance' on him.) So it's a little weird and confusing, but everyone's favorite violent little bear is still alive.
> 
> Winter is a little afraid that Bucky Bear views him as a disgrace. (Especially given the bear's violent reaction to cute pull-ups.) 
> 
> _If You Give a Mouse a Cookie_ is a kids' book, following a "circular story". Winter finds the simple cause-and-effect narrative comforting, since he spends so much of his time confused about things. _Corduroy_ is a story about a bear in a toy store who is not purchased because he has a missing button on his overalls, and so he goes on a search for a button. The story ends with a little girl taking him home and fixing him up herself. Bucky Bear likes _Corduroy_. And _Stellaluna_ is one of my favorite kids' stories ever.
> 
> With long fics, it's easy to miss something when proofreading. If you spot any errors, please let me know!


End file.
